L&O: IAB
by mabsy
Summary: Post Untethered, IAB investigates Bobby. Some swearing, with BA undertones. Chapter 13 ends one thing but could start another.
1. The Goren and Eames of IAB

"You hear about Major Case's Major Meltdown?" Cal set down her coffee and sat at his desk opposite hers. He was late, as usual, while she'd already been in with the boss this morning. She could feel the headache starting behind her left eye socket.

Augusta Santelli reached for the cup and took a sip, wincing. Another five minutes in the chilly basement air and it would be perfect. She put her Queen Rodent mug down and looked over the rim of her glasses at her partner of nine years. "I have the case file right here." She said tapping the folder in front of her.

"The Spec gave this one to us?" Cal asked. She nodded and he punched his fist in the air. "Hell yeah." He leaned back and put his feet up on the desk, knocking some files over and spilling their contents to the floor. He sat back and locked his hands behind his head. He smiled pleasantly, no doubt playing some version of the inevitable interrogation in his head. His foot was dangerously close to his mug of herbal tea.

"You don't have to look so pleased," Gus admonished. "It's already a cluster fuck and we haven't jumped in yet." She continued perusing the notes and clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Given how he operates, I shouldn't be surprised that everybody's favorite overachiever overachieves when he looses his mind, but holy shit. He appears to have completely lost the plot."

Cal smirked and looked at her. "Plot, hell. I heard he set fire to the whole damned library."

Gus closed the file and shoved it across their desks to him. His chair creaked with his shifting weight as he reached for it, grabbing his cup with the other hand since it had begun to tip. He scanned the first page. "I'll be damned," he whispered.

"Cluster fuck," she repeated.

"I'll say. How the mighty fall," he said and continued reading.

"Like the Wyle E Coyote, right over the cliff." Gus grimaced, but Sharpie didn't notice. She'd begun thinking in cartoon metaphors lately since all her boys were now old enough to be regular watchers. It made grown up conversation an act of concentration. "Let me know when you get to the end of page two." She reached for her coffee again, but still too hot. She wrapped her hands around it and used the heat to warm her fingers. The basement of 1PP stayed cool in the summer but was never warmer than sub-arctic in the winter. Some days she had to keep her scarf and gloves on.

The Goren case was a class A migraine waiting to happen. The Chief Inspector made it clear when she handed over the file that her two best inspectors had carte blanche on this one, since no matter how IAB played it, someone somewhere very high up was not going to be happy. _"Do what needs to be done, Santelli. Everyone else," Chief Inspector Annie Leech had said, "can fuck right off. We're independent for a reason." _

"He altered his fingerprints?" Sharpie asked incredulously. "Obtained fake documentation?"

"Yeah, hints at inside help, but no names given. So that's what, abuse of departmental resources so far? That's just the tip of the iceberg. Keep reading." She put the mug down and leaned forward, her chin in her hand, her elbow on her messy desk.

"Grapevine says Moran refers to Goren as 'the whack job,'" Sharpie said, still scanning the file and sipping at his tea.

"About his own guy? That asshole has no sense of loyalty," she scoffed. "Chief of Douchebags."

"If you can believe water cooler talk," said Sharpie dismissively.

"Cops," she declared, "out gossip my mother-in-law's canasta club any day of the week."

"Arrogant son of a bitch," he muttered absently as he continued to read.

"_Alleged_ arrogant son of a bitch," she corrected. "All we've got is the preliminary report from the hearing and some prelim psych evaluations." She chewed the inside of her mouth. "I dunno, Sharps. Here's a guy who knows better. Good cop, solid, and one day he just up and pisses all over everything."

_"Allegedly_, Augusta," he corrected her. "Ah yes. Here's the bit about Alexandra Eames, second half of the MCS Dream Team, bottom of page 2." He thought about it for a minute, staring at the ceiling as if all the answers were written up there. Cal "Sharpie" Forester had been in Internal Affairs fifteen years to her nine. He worked with some of New York's best to prosecute some of New York's finest. He had refused the offer to head the department twice, opting instead to continue to work cases. He liked the work and hated the world of departmental politics. He remembered almost everything that came through the door, even cases closed by his colleagues. He was nosy but good, often giving newer Inspectors the benefit of his expertise, (whether they asked for it or not). Sharpie always said that one never knew with simple misconduct would lead to out and out corruption, and he was very good at connecting the dots. "She had a courthouse shooting a couple of years ago. Some old timer's son attempted to shoot the wife and Eames got two in before anyone knew which end was up. Very clean, very tight. Definitely legit."

"Right. I remember that." She reached for her danish and started nibbling. "We overlapped some in Vice, but I didn't work with her much. She did the street corner thing. I was mostly in the titty bar scene." She chewed thoughtfully. "Not as much crossover as you'd think. But she's a good cop, comes from a family of cops." She tossed down the pastry, having eaten around the weird fruit goo in the middle.

Sharpie winked at her. "All the best do, right?"

Gus raised her brows skeptically. "Yes. We do. Stop sucking up. My father already said you could have his antique gun collection."

"Won't stop until he actually adopts me," he said as he continued reading. "The partner thing bugs me. Imposes on the closeness of the relationship."

"But ingratiating yourself to your partner's father so that said partner's husband gets cheated out of his legacy doesn't?" she chided.

He flashed a grin, the one guaranteed to thaw the most icy of hearts. "What can I say, Dad likes me better. Is Greg whining about it?"

"Greg and Phil are both pissed." She and her sister knew that their respective husbands weren't going to win. Sharpie had her dad eating out of his hand. Her partner had a way with people.

"Whatever. Greg's a foreigner and Phil refuses to humor the old man. Plus, neither one of them is a cop. I listen to his stories from his days on the force, repeatedly. I work hard to be his favorite."

"Maybe you should work that hard on your actual job," she said and pointed at the file in his hands.

He rolled his eyes at her in mock annoyance. "OK, do we have a statement from the partner?"

She shook her head.

Goren and Eames: the foundation of Major Case and practically the gold standard of partnerships within the department. Some of their cases were now studied in criminal justice courses. They had the respect of their peers and the disdain of higher ups who didn't like their methods but couldn't argue their results. Detective Eames had a double dipping cop for a father, which on the IAB sin chart ranks somewhere between lying in confession and having an impure thought. Eames the younger built her own reputation on a dedication to her job and her ability to work flawlessly with the prickliest of partners, Detective Robert O Goren. Goren was unorthodox and had his share of critics. Having never met the man, Gus couldn't give much credit to the crazy rumors but she had heard a lot of stuff over the years. His Narcotics record was spotless, however, and his Major Case run was nothing short of legendary. Fundamentally, they were the kind of cops that didn't require a lot of wiretapping or babysitting from IAB because they knew how to skirt the line between good detecting and questionable conduct. The DA's office in particular was very supportive of them.

The Chief of Detectives, on the other hand, was screaming for Goren's head on a platter as the Chief Inspector fielded calls from the Mayor who was under pressure from department heads and concerned civic groups worked up over the loose cannon in Major Case or worked up over what the loose canon at Major Case had discovered. Everyone had their own agenda and no one agreed what should be done. Hell, no one really agreed what had happened. This was going to be a category five shit storm and she wasn't sure who would be left standing in the end. Damn

Cal wasn't worried. He shrugged off her obvious stress. "Well, good cop or not, she's mired in the shit now." He went back to reading the case file, his lips occasionally moving as he read along silently to himself.

"So are we." She said sardonically and reached for her coffee. Her husband could not prepare her coffee exactly the way she liked it, but Calvin Forrester brewed a damned perfect cup every time. He just might deserve her father's collection after all. "We question him tomorrow," she informed him.

"Cheer up, Champ" Cal flashed her his million watt smile again. "Maybe after all this, the Mayor will stop referring to us as the Goren and Eames of The Rat Squad."

"I'm the Eames," she muttered.


	2. How Logan Gets Involved

**NOTE: **Light swearing, and some BA undertones, if that's the way you swing.

**ALSO: **I don't own anything, except the ladies and gents of IAB and the oddly convoluted way they seem to work.

* * *

"Inspector Calvin Forrester." he said extending his hand. "This is my partner, Inspector Augusta Santelli. Please, have a seat."

Detective Robert Goren, cleanly shaven and dressed in his best dark suit, shook Forrester's proffered hand, but only nodded at Santelli since she had not extended her own. He sat across from them and tried to not jiggle his knee He was nervous, more nervous than he thought he'd be. Lately, when he got nervous, his once orderly brain started accelerating his synapses; his thoughts jumbling one over the other, like inmates in a jailbreak stampeding toward the exit. Soon, he was overwhelmed and it was never long before he was back there, at least in his head - strapped to a table, begging for water, begging for her, begging for release. He forced himself to relax by tapping very lightly on the top of his thigh with a slow and steady rhythm, the way Dr Skoda had suggested. The staccato pace was a soothing metronome for his busy mind.

Forrester smiled charmingly as he sat down and gestured for Bobby to do the same. "Thank you for meeting us here, Detective. It turns out Major Case interview rooms are nicer than anything you'll find downstairs."

"Of course." Bobby inclined his head.

"Gus here also thought you'd be more comfortable in familiar surroundings." He jerked his head in her direction, but she didn't acknowledge him. Bobby could tell that Gus Santelli could give a damn about his comfort. She put on her glasses and opened her notebook. Without looking up, Inspector Santelli spoke for the first time. "We are waiting for your delegate then?" she asked, her voice a smoky alto.

"I won't require the services of a delegate at this time," Goren intoned. She glanced up sharply and he noted the subtle roll of her dark eyes. She disapproved of his decision, and of him.

She took her time really looking at him, taking in his pressed suit and recent haircut, her intense gaze not missing a single detail. He could tell she was not impressed by what she saw. The experience at Tate's had made his coloring sallow, and the stress of its aftermath had given his normally intense eyes a hollow look. He tried to take care with his appearance this morning, but he knew it would be some time before he looked like himself again. Santelli's brows scrunched together over the rim of her glasses presently atop a decidedly Roman nose that any Caesar would have envied. "Detective Goren, may I remind you that in these circumstances a union delegate is appointed to you for your protection? That it is your right as an officer to have a fellow officer present whose purpose is to act in your best interest?"

Bobby nodded. "I understand. I do… uh…not require the services of a delegate at this time."

Santelli didn't bother to conceal her eye roll this time. "And I supposed you don't have a lawyer, either?"

"No ma'am, I do not. I am prepared to handle this myself," he tried for contrite, but that wasn't his style so he failed.

She suddenly threw her pen down, the force of her frustration making it bounce across the page and roll near the end of the table. He scooped it up before it fell and handed it back to her. "Incredible. Sharpie, you see what we got here?" She clicked her tongue and didn't thank him for his chivalry as she took the pen back. "A bona fide martyr."

Sharpie whistled. "Not in the room five minutes with you, Gus."

"Your ability to read people is as astounding as they say, Detective," she said as if Sharpie didn't speak. "I handle dirty cops, shifty informants and even my fourteen year old kid's drama days, and rarely loose my temper. But nothing chaps my ass more than a fucking martyr." She looked over at her partner, who was settling back ready to enjoy himself, uncapping his pen and trying not to smirk. She scooted her chair back with loud emphasis.

Goren watched her head for the door and absently noted that she was tall. In her sensible low heeled shoes she stood just shy of six feet. _Much taller than Eames. _Bobby gave himself a mental shake. Dr Skoda told Bobby at their last session that he unconsciously compared every female, cop or not, to his partner. Bobby denied it at the time, but given his current reaction he made a mental note to tell the doctor next time the theory was probably sound.

With her nearly black hair worn back in a tight, low bun, Santelli had a stern look about her that made him think of overdue books at a library, but the kind where the librarian shot you for your violations. He'd put her in her late thirties and knew she'd been with the NYPD nearly 15 years, with some time in Vice and then Fraud before settling in at Internal Affairs. Her dark grey Chanel skirt suit showcased her long legs, toned so that her calf muscles were clearly defined as they contracted and released with every step toward the door. That and her light step indicated she had once been a dancer. He looked back at Inspector Forrester who was chuckling.

"She's direct," said Goren.

"You have no idea. Don't expect any apology for the language either." Forrester shook his head. "Vice. You know how they are." Bobby nodded. The two men had something in common. "I am impressed, though," Forrester continued. "You haven't lost your touch, reading people, knowing what buttons to press. That took, what, less than two minutes?"

Goren glanced back at the door and then back at Forrester. Bobby was familiar with Forrester's reputation, but had never met the man in person. He had the golden rugged looks were a throwback to old Hollywood and would be more at home as Butch or Sundance, rather than in a police station. He'd come up through the SWAT Team and was known as an expert marksman. Bobby supposed that's where the nickname Sharpie came from.

"I actually didn't know. Wasn't uh, wasn't really trying." Bobby said.

Forrester smiled. "Lucky guess, then. Would love to see when you are actually trying." He seemed to struggle for a moment before speaking. "Listen, Goren," he said earnestly. "Before this starts, I wanted to say that I admire your work. I read almost everything we see downstairs, and I gotta say you've closed some amazing cases, just incredible investigative work. I always look forward to reading your latest episode."

Bobby smiled, thinking about where the credit really belongs. "My partner, uh. She's the one that does them. The reports. I hate paperwork"

His eyebrows rose. "Really? Gus does ours, too. I understand it has to get done but it distracts from the important stuff." Another thing they had in common, then. Forester cleared his throat. "The current situation is unfortunate, but I didn't want to start before you knew that I admire the hell out of what you and your partner have accomplished."

"Is this off the record?"

Forrester gave a shout of laughter. "Hell man. I'm IAB. I can't take a piss off the record."

"Oh. Well…um…thanks,"

"The Randolph case, what six years ago? Seven? You and your partner cracked that school patrol ring, just amazing. Could have been an open and shut, but you hustled her like a pro. And of course, we all remember the fiasco with that asshole Frank Adair." Sharpie shook his head. "I've worked with some of you Major Case darlings, but we tend to give your internal cases to our rookies since there's not much cleanup for IAB to do. Real good work man, real good work." Bobby nodded at the compliment. Forrester was going to be the good cop here, then. That left Augusta, Gus, to be the bad cop. Great, he pissed off the bad cop already.

"That said. Gus and I are going to pursue this to the end. Whatever it takes, whatever the outcome." His tone was deadly calm, his blue eyes serious as they stared straight into his.

Bobby nodded again. "I understand. And I appreciate your candor."

There new rapport was broken when Gus returned followed by Mike Logan. Mike shut the door and took the seat next to Bobby.

"Detectives, I am sure you know each other." She flipped her index finger back and forth between the two. "Detective Logan here has agreed to act as your delegate going forward, Detective Goren."

Bobby was surprised, which didn't happen to him often. "I said… well…um…I don't need a delegate." He said again. He looked at Forrester and decided he was going to be no help. The man leaned back, his chair balanced on its back legs. He had big grin on his face, and was looking smugly at his partner. She glanced sideways at him, the unspoken communication strong and his approval for her actions obvious. Bobby suddenly missed Eames keenly.

"Well, sir, I need you to have one," she said as if he were five. She sat down and picked up her pen again. She pressed hard on the paper; the audible sounds of pen to page rang in Bobby's ears as a reminder that these two had not just his career in their hands, but his life. "This is as much for my protection as it is yours. This investigation will not be compromised because you decided to don a hair shirt, lock yourself in a closet, and flail with reckless abandon." The pen jabbed in his direction forcefully, a direct extension of her sharp look. "You can do that on your own time. I won't have you whining later that we took advantage of you"

"The Scarlet Letter," mumbled Bobby automatically.

She ignored his comment, but he didn't need her to confirm the reference. "I have deputized Logan here," another gesture with the pen, a Uniball Vision Elite, fine point, green ink, toward Mike "to act on your behalf."

"And, ah, what if I refuse?" Bobby said. He realized the question was moot, she had that steely look in her eye, the same one Eames got when she corrected his assumptions. _No, she would have hung her purse on the _hook_, Bobby._ He wanted to hear what Santelli had to say anyway.

She smiled; a little thing that was more a tightening of her facial muscles rather than an expression of amusement or joy. "It doesn't matter, he stays. As my guest, as your delegate, it's all bullshit semantics. Whatever you may or may not have done, it's no longer just about you, Detective Goren." She flashed a completely different grin at Logan, full of warmth and light. He smiled back with raised brows. "While he hasn't gone through traditional departmental training most union representatives have, he has sufficient real life expertise which works just as well, if not better." Mike inclined his head.

Forrester leaned forward with a thump as the legs of his chair hit the ground and shook Logan's hand. "Hope you're wearing your dancing shoes, Logan." He brought out a small tape recorder and opened his own notebook. His pen, Bobby noted with some interest, was a blue Sharpie with an ultra fine point.

Logan's smile turned predatory. "You know I always got an empty line on my dance card for you, Sharpie." Logan looked over at Goren. "Hey pal, I got your back. Gotta watch yourself with these two. They are the slickest rats in the basement." He smiled at the two inspectors. "Said with the utmost respect, of course."


	3. Interrogation, Part I

NOTE: Still own nothing but the IAB guys, and the weird way they work. This has some swearing. Thanks for reading!

PS: Even though I just watched last night, I can't remember if the car he looked at in _Untethered _was a Ferrari. If it wasn't, can someone let me know what it was? Thanks!

* * *

"Gentlemen." Forester gestured to his partner who waved in a dismissive fashion. "The point of this meeting is to get the official statement of events that led up to Detective Goren's suspension. I realize that you may have had preliminary hearings with other offices before," he addressed Bobby. "But Internal Affairs conducts its own independent inquiry to ensure objectivity. We take the suspension of one of our own very seriously.

There are a lot of people holding their breath waiting to see what happens here. You can rest assured, our sole interest is to conduct a thorough and impartial investigation and then evaluate your competency as an officer. Our investigation will help determine what, if any, future role you have with the NYPD."

"Detective Goren," Santelli spoke as Forrester sat. "Please tell us in your own words what happened in October of 2007."

Leaving out Eames' encounter with Frank outside 1PP, Bobby began with the discovery of Donnie's existence. In a monotone, he went on to describe how patients were dying under suspicious circumstances at Tate's Hospital upstate, and expressed his concern about the ability of the local legal system in that particular part of the state.

"Jurisdiction is a bitch," Mike mumbled. Forrester gave a little nod in sympathy.

"I see here your nephew was held on a material witness warrant and then brought to holding here at MCS," Gus stated.

"Correct."

"Clever," she commented. "And it was at this time that you learned of the death of Jay Lowry under suspicious circumstances?"

"Yes ma'am."

"And you asked ME Elizabeth Rodgers perform an autopsy of Mr. Lowry?"

Bobby addressed Forrester, from whom the question had come. "Yes, sir. We obtained permission from the deceased's parents. He was 21 years old and the C O D was listed as 'natural causes.'"

"So you did not attempt to contact the local sheriff or other law enforcement?"

"No, ma'am, I did not," said Bobby. "As I mentioned, we discovered irregularities in my nephew's case stemming from conflicts of interest with the other defendant and his connected father. It was imperative to bypass the local agencies once we discovered they were tainted with nepotism and possible corruption, as it would have jeopardized any attempts to gather evidence." He sat up a little straighter. He wasn't going to convince her, so he wasn't going to try. But he sure as hell wouldn't let her bully him either. He carefully kept any trace of righteousness out of his voice; she was waiting to nail him for something and he was determined to give her nothing.

Both Inspectors scratched notes furiously, and Santelli continued. "Detective Goren, did you at any time attempt to contact the State Attorney General's office to report your findings and discuss your concerns?"

"C'mon Santelli," Mike broke in. "There wasn't time for that. His nephew was in danger."

"It's a yes or no, question, Detective Logan, which involves neither his nephew nor danger," she said crisply. "Did you or did you not contact the State Attorney General's office to report your findings?"

"No, ma'am, I did not. An official investigation would take weeks, maybe months, and people, Inspector, were dying. There was no time." He kept his tone even, but for the first time since this whole process began, he was annoyed. He took exception to her tone and her dismissive attitude. She was never going to know how much she bothered him, however. He no longer felt the need to tap to maintain focus; he was completely focused on her.

She held his eyes, wrote some notes and in a short clipped voice said, "Continue."

Forester held up his hand to pause, and said nothing as he glanced at his partner and left the room. He returned a few minutes later and flashed his partner a peace sign and sat down. Forester motioned Bobby to continue.

"Wait. You threw a brick? Where did you get the brick?" Santelli interjected. Bobby tilted his head to the right, puzzled by the question. The Chief of D's hadn't even asked, and Bobby couldn't find the logic in her asking. He frowned and glanced in Mike's direction, waiting to see if his delegate would object. Mike merely shrugged.

"Uh, I got it from a homeless man earlier that morning," he said.

"The homeless guy in my neighborhood usually gives me the finger in the morning," Mike said out of the corner of his mouth to Forrester.

"I, uh, I paid him twenty dollars for it," he clarified. The two inspectors looked at each other briefly then he made a note in on his pad and showed it to her. She shook her head slightly.

"Why?" she prodded.

"He, he… uh, he was waving it around. Becoming agitated," said Bobby frankly. "He'd be less inclined to cause harm to himself or others if he had a 20 and I had the brick."

Sharpie's brows rose and he scratched some notes onto his pad. "I, for one, am glad you didn't hit that Ferrari at the dealership." He shook his head. "Surely a tragedy to mar such a thing of beauty." He could feel his partner's annoyance and sat up straighter. "Sorry," he said to her. "Please, go on."

Bobby did so, detailing his admission to the mental hospital under a false name, and the nurse's administration of so many sedatives. His inflection betrayed no emotion, but recounting the tale always left him feeling drained.

"Where did you obtain the fake ID?" Santelli asked.

Mike shook his head at Bobby, and held up a hand. "eBay," said Logan.

"Oh, come on, Mike," she almost threw her pen at him. "That's fucking ridiculous."

"eBay," he repeated and pointed his finger at her. "That's all you're gonna get, so stop asking."

"So at this point," said Sharpie, smoothly diffusing. "The only person or persons who knew your intent to infiltrate Tate's Correction was your partner, Detective Alexandra Eames?"

"Correct,"

"And you checked in with her at regular intervals to report your progress."

"Correct."

"And this was after Captain Ross requested you turn in your gun and badge and take personal leave?" he pressed.

"Correct."

She flipped through her notes. "After both Captain Ross and Detective Eames called in favors so you could meet and talk to your nephew?"

"Correct"

"Did you consider, Detective, what kind of repercussions your request might have for them?" Santelli asked. She couldn't quite keep the disgust out of her voice.

"They were as concerned as I, Inspector, that people were dying at Tate's," he answered as if the obvious conclusion was that she, Santelli, did not care.

"So it did not occur to you," she repeated disapprovingly.

"No ma'am," he said. "To protect and serve is something I think we all take very seriously."

She said nothing. His tone was just shy of insulting but she couldn't call him on it.

"Perhaps you should ask Detective Eames about her motivation," he added just to annoy her.

Her mouth turned down and she stared at him over those damned glasses. "Oh I will," she said with conviction. "But what I want to know now, Detective Goren, is what did you think would happen to her once your stay at Tate's was over. I want to know if you thought about what involving her in your master plan would mean for her."

"Hey now," Mike's tone was placating and warning all at once.

"Forget it," said Forester. He leaned in and whispered to his partner who looked like she ate a thumbtack but remained silent.

Bobby met her hostile gaze squarely and began again, reciting the events as if she were the only one in the room. She did not even waver under his focused scrutiny and scribbled notes without breaking eye contact.

A loud noise from behind the one way glass interrupted Bobby's recitation, and they all turned toward the sound. Cal looked at Gus and said, "Your turn," so quietly Bobby almost missed it. She scrunched her face at her partner and rose fluidly from her chair. "Excuse me," she called over her shoulder as she left the room, the door slightly ajar.

Logan grinned. "I would love to hear what is happening back there."

Cal shrugged. "Unauthorized spectators, I suspect. Everyone wants to see the floor show. There were two people in there earlier." So not a peace sign, after all, thought Bobby. _Two people. Eames? Ross?_

"I heard they wanted to sell tickets to watch." Logan remarked as he squinted at the mirror as if he could see something. Of course he couldn't.

"Only three people are allowed back there: Captain Ross, your boss, Chief Inspector Leech, my boss, or the Police Commissioner, everybody's boss." Calvin explained. "Not the Mayor, not even Jesus Christ himself."_Not Eames. _Bobby felt disappointed.

They could hear raised voices and scuffing feet. "Sounds like Gus is double checking ticket stubs." Mike chuckled.

"Someone doesn't have one," said Cal, tapping his pen lightly on his notepad. Bobby wasn't the only one who tapped. "How's Major Case treating you, Logan?"

"Better than Staten Island," said Mike. "Present circumstances excluded, of course."

Sharpie laughed. "How's the new partner, Megan, uh, Wexler?"

"Wheeler. We're finding our rhythm." Logan glanced at toward the hallway where they could hear raised voices.

"May I remind you,_ Inspector,_ that I have the right to be where a _detective_ is being questioned!" They could hear the Chief of Detectives become shrill. "I am the _Chief _of _Detectives_. _Detective_ Goren is a _detective._" His derisive tone made Mike flinch.

"May I remind you, _Kenny_, that if you have a problem, take it up with _Chief__ Inspector _Leech. She's calling the shots here. You're not on the list ergo you leave."

His answer was garbled, but the three men could make out several choice swear words. Gus's words were clearer. "Really? How about I call the DA and slap you with an obstruction charge?"

"That's gonna come back to bite her," said Mike.

Sharpie shrugged, but his eyes remained on the open door. "Why do you think I sent _her_ out there? God, I hate that guy." He remembered who he was with and smiled sheepishly at the two of them. He started doodling in the margins of his paper.

"She still married to that Australian guy? He has some kooky job, right?" Mike asked conversationally.

"Greg, yeah. Civil War Re-enactor." Sharpie did some quick math. "They've been married fifteen years? Sixteen? The history teacher gig actually pays the bills, but the man loves his American wars. Maybe you taught at the same school, Mr. Brady," he looked pointedly at Bobby who said nothing.

"No kidding," said Mike, ignoring the jibe. "They got what, two kids?"

"Nah, five." Logan whistled. "All boys. She had twins two years ago, Calvin and Forrest." Sharpie's voice was filled with pride. "I won't bore you with pictures, I can, but I won't. I want the credit for sparing you, though." Logan laughed.

"The Mayor is going to hear about this, Augusta," yelled the Chief of Ds.

"You want to call him now?" she said sweetly, like a knife dipped in frosting. "He's #2 on my cell phone speed dial, Kenny"

"How's Theo?" asked Mike, as if he wasn't paying attention to the battle raging in the hallway.

"Doing well, thanks. He's in the State Attorney General's office now. I am getting too old to do the long distance thing, so he transferred from DC," Sharpie replied casually, as if he wasn't paying attention to the battle raging in the hallway either. "We're thinking of buying a place in the Berkshires," he added. Bobby could follow both conversations with ease, but it was a little surreal.

"Wow, you two are serious."

"As a heart attack, Logan. As a heart attack."

The angry footsteps of the Chief of D's echoed down the hallway. Gus re-entered and smoothed her hand down her skirt as she closed the door. She sat down and picked up her pen. She had a slight color to her cheeks; otherwise no one would guess she just threatened the Chief of Detectives within earshot of every detective on Major Case.

"Fucking asshole," she muttered under her breath. Sharpie reached in his pocket and pulled out at twenty. He handed it wordlessly to his partner who grabbed it and tucked it shamelessly into her the left side of her bra.

"My apologies for the delay, gentlemen," she said brightly. "Shall we continue?"

And so Bobby told them of the torture and abuse, of the Warden and the guards, and his eventual deliverance at the hands of Eames and Ross. The issue of the expulsion of the Chief of D's and the exchange of money was pointedly ignored by all.

"Where is your nephew now, Detective Goren?" she asked, her eyes cold over the rim of her glasses.

"Come on, Gus, you really expect him to answer that?" snorted Mike.

"Yes we do. Do you know where your nephew is?" Sharpie's gaze was keen and his message clear – she might have asked the question, but she spoke for both of them. Donnie was a fugitive; the question was valid and Bobby would answer.

"No, I do not. I have asked my brother, but he hasn't heard from Donnie either." The lie was easier to tell because it was mostly the truth.

Forester shuffled some papers and found what he was looking for. "Frank is a junkie?" He asked.

"Getting real personal now," warned Mike.

"No, it's OK." Bobby had made his peace the night he looked for Donnie in Times Square. "Frank is, and always will be, a junkie," Bobby said. It felt good to say it out loud. His last interaction with Frank was intense and emotional; he wasn't sure how he was going to feel talking about his brother out loud. His sessions with Dr Skoda hadn't really scratched the surface. He was pleasantly surprised to realize he felt nothing. No compassion, no remorse. Not about Frank anyway. The void was...comforting.

"And how are you now, Detective Goren?"

"Uh, um, pardon?" he stammered. He didn't expect such a direct personal question from her after the grilling he just endured.

"How are you?" she repeated, not ungently. It was the closest thing to sympathy he'd seen from her so far, but if sympathy lived on the Upper East Side, she'd still be in Iceland.

"I am doing better," he said carefully. She was crafty and he didn't trust her. "I am seeing the department appointed psychologist regularly," he added in case that's what she was wondering.

She searched his face and deciding she was satisfied with what she saw, nodded. She gathered her things, and without looking at her partner said, "I think that's all for today, thank you. We'll be in touch."


	4. Mike and Bobby Grab a Dog

NOTE: Don't own anything, and don't have much so suing would be a waste of time (looking at you, Wolf Productions). 

ALSO: Thanks for reading! 

* * *

Mike handed Goren a hot dog with the works

At Logan's suggestion they headed to Battery Park to get lunch. Mike figured fresh air would do them both some good after the morning they had. It was unseasonably warm for January. Goren had a dazed look about him that worried the other detective, so he ordered for them both and paid. 

"Come on. Let's grab a bench." He guided the subdued man to a park table. 

"One of these days you're gonna do something real mundane and the result will be boring as hell," said Mike, shaking Goren out of his trance. "I hope I'm around to see it." When Bobby said nothing, Mike changed the subject. "How about that Santelli and the Chief of Ds, huh? He was pissed."

"You know them both."

Mike nodded. He was happy to fill the silence with nonsense. It was a tough morning. "I've know her longer. Him I met a couple of years back, although he remembers when I punched that councilman. He's been IAB for a long time." He took a bite and chewed. "Remember that case we had, me and Barek, with The Crew?" Goren nodded bit into his hot dog. There was something comforting knowing what one was ingesting had no nutritional value whatsoever. Plus it tasted good. "Mob, dirty cops, the works. Forrester was in that class at the academy, in The Crew back in his SWAT days." Mike took a swig of his coffee. "They basically turned their backs on him when he came out. He gave us a lot of information, helped the IAB team working with us. Annie Leech runs a tight ship down there now."

Goren stared at the water. Pigeons had begun to strut around the two men, hoping to share their lunch. The big detective tore off part of his bun and they watched the birds work it over. Bobby watched as if he could relate to the bun. 

"She, uh, she used to dance," Goren stated, his voice gravelly from too much talking. 

"Gus? Yeah." Heartened that Bobby was channeling his usual astute self, Mike was happy to spill what he knew. "She worked Vice in the strip clubs. I know her from my days at the Two-Seven." Mike chuckled. "Man, you should've seen the crowds she used to draw when she was undercover." Mike whistled. "She never cared that a lot of us were cops who came for the free show, and we knew she'd kick the ass of the first guy who threw it in her face. So we acted like we hadn't seen it all, you know?" Mike took another sip of his coffee. "She did this thing with her leg and the pole…" He stared off for a minute, lost in the memories. "Never seen a body bend like that, not before, not since. I remember thinking: 'If I go blind tomorrow, at least I'll know what heaven looks like.'" He glanced over and grinned. "You really had to be there."

"Cleopatra?" Bobby guessed.

"You heard?" Mike asked, surprised. He waggled his eyebrows at Bobby and took another sip. "Didn't think locker room talk was your thing."

"Uh...um, no. I just thought, you know, her name. Augustus, Caesar. Cleopatra." He waved his hot dog in the air vaguely. "She'd make that kind of connection. Enjoy the in joke."

"Ah." He didn't say it, but Mike was relieved Bobby had made another connection the old Bobby would have. The two ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

"She took a bullet," Mike said abruptly. Bobby silently finished his hot dog, the pigeons clucking their disappointment. "Bad bust, gambling and prostitution ring, complete with one dirty cop. He fired off a couple of rounds. She got hit in the chest, real messy." Mike took a deep breath and decided to smack the elephant sitting with them with a two by four. "Eames probably remembers. It would be about the time she was on Vice, too." Bobby blinked rapidly, but otherwise still no response. "Have you talked to her?"

Bobby shook his head, and Mike saw the other man's fingers tap lightly on the top of his thigh with a measured pace. "I…uh. N…no." He said.

Mike finished his lunch. He had talked to her just yesterday. She was on administrative leave pending her own review and he was giving her updates on Bobby as best he knew. Today he knew better. She understood that her partner needed distance, some time to sort things out and her presence might remind him of his recent failures and make it that much harder for him to cope. He also wasn't answering her calls. She was spending a lot of time with her family but knew Bobby had no one, and wasn't going to be reaching out anytime soon. _"Watch out for him, Logan." Mike caught the tiniest catch in her voice and knew that Alex Eames didn't betray emotion unless she was really close to breaking. "Yeah, Eames," He said. "I'm on it." _

Mike looked over at his colleague. "Listen, pal. I'm not gonna to pretend to understand what happened. I'm not going to blab it to everybody on the force. No judgments here. We're just gonna focus on getting through this."

"Uh...thanks."

"As a friend to both of you, though, Eames doesn't deserve this. Not after everything you guys have been through."

Bobby eyed him warily. "It's complicated."

"I'll say. But it's pretty shitty to have taken her along for the ride and then kicked her out of the car while it's still rollin, ya know? She's your partner."

Bobby wanted to lash out, to yell about how he knew that she deserved better and Mike didn't need to throw it in his face. The guilt and the shame threatened to suffocate him. He put her through so much and was responsible for so much. His presence was poison. She didn't deserve that, never had. He stared straight ahead instead and continued to tap lightly on the side of his thigh.

"And she needs a head's up," Mike warned. "Those two are gonna come calling."


	5. IAB Makes a Plan

NOTE: No change in L&O character ownership has occurred since last I posted, so just the IAB peeps belong to me

ALSO:

* * *

Chief of Inspectors Annie Leech, Internal Affairs Bureau, NYPD looked from one inspector to the other.

"So what you are saying is: he pretty much just repeated what he told Moran during the prelim."

"Yup," confirmed Sharpie. "Truth be told, Spec, I didn't expect anything less. This guy is a consummate professional. Knows how the system operates, therefore knows how to operate the system."

"What do you think?" Leech asked Gus.

She gave it some thought before answering. "He was cooperative but not forthcoming. He's not really lying to us, not in any way that matters, but I can't get a read on him. He couldn't be rattled."

"And boy, she tried, Spec."

Leech was surprised. Augusta Santelli was great at her job. Her career had been built on liars. With her years in Vice and Fraud, she was a natural fit at IAB because she knew how cops thought and how liars lied. Her experience as a mom to five boys had only honed her ability to spot a liar. If she couldn't read him, Robert O Goren couldn't be read. She wrote herself a reminder on a blue post it. _Watch Goren, Round II_. "Anything else?"

Sharpie and Gus looked at each other and back again. "We aren't going to shake him with our usual arsenal." Sharpie ventured. Annie could practically see the wheels turning in his well coiffed, golden head.

She looked heavenward, and rubbed her index finger between her eyes. She was already running more interference than a tight end and wasn't sure how much more she should expect. She ruled her department as a benevolent dictatorship, giving her seasoned inspectors the benevolent part, while the newer staff got the harder edge. One didn't achieve her level of success by being nice; certainly being the head of the most hated division in the NYPD didn't win her any friends amongst her peers, the same peers who were on her ass about this case. It was still a man's world, less so than when she started out as a beat cop nearly thirty years ago, and she wasn't about to don a velvet glove over her iron fist now. It was her department, her investigation and therefore her rules. She had her best people on it and trusted their instincts. The Goren Debacle wasn't going to break her, though it would probably come close.

"I am not going to like this," she said, tucking a strand of her short, white hair behind her ear. Having been an ashy blonde her whole life, no one quite noticed when it turned grey. It lent her an air of pale grandmotherly authority and made her nickname of "Spec" more appropriate. She eyed the two sternly, settling in on Santelli. "Anymore than I like dragging a third party into it, Augusta."

Gus shrugged. "I refused to play Pilate."

"OK, so you refuse to apologize for it as well," Leech concluded. "Fine, Logan makes sense in context, but what do you have to say about threatening the Chief of Detectives?"

Gus played it smart and didn't answer.

Sharpie leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You should have seen it, Spec. It was, like, I dunno, some kind of mother thing, magic or something. She marched him right out like a naughty tyke." He clapped his hands gleefully. Gus had the good sense to keep her face impassive.

"That kind of magic I can do without. He was down here for 20 minutes, turning purple and sputtering all over my desk." She waved a hand over her desk, the surface covered with a variety of colored post-its, each with a nearly illegible scrawl. Annie Leech was the only one who could read Annie Leech's handwriting. Although sometimes, when he squinted just so, her assistant Melvin could make out enough letters to get the gist.

"Kenny Moran is an impotent jackass," Sharpie said dismissively. "He can't do anything to you."

"Except spit on my stuff and put me off my lunch," said Leech. She didn't bother reining in her senior Inspector. Sharpie thought he could get away with anything since he had been here longer than she, refused the command post twice, and was charming as hell. Annoyingly, he was right.

"Sorry, Spec," Gus said. "Kenny and about 10 other guys were shoved in that little observation room."

"Like clowns in a VW," Sharpie chuckled.

"Exactly," agreed Gus smiling in accord with her partner.

Annie Leech wasn't amused. "You know, I think I can actually _see_ when you guys are thinking the same thing?" The two smirked. "Stop it. It's annoying. Get back to it."

"As we said, he is hard to read. But I gotta say the planning an execution of the whole thing was something right out of the movies. One of the caper films, like _Ocean's 11_, or _The Italian Job_." Sharpie said admiringly. "Sinatra and Caine," he clarified unnecessarily. Sharpie did not do remakes.

Gus gaped at her partner. "You like him!" she accused. This was not a good development.

"I do," conceded Sharpie.

"What happened to the mighty falling and all that shit?"

"Oh, he is guilty as hell." Sharpie said. "It's one of the reasons why I like him. Come on, Gus." He held his hand out to her as if she would take what he offered. "He's a train wreck; a raw gaping wound walking around the halls of 1PP like a zombie. He's not working at 100, probably not even 50, and he still exposed some major abuse at that hospital." He smiled broadly and shook is head. "On my best day I couldn't have accomplished that much and he was definitely having a bad day. Month. Year. It should count for something."

Gus shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. It doesn't count for squat. The NYPD does not exist so that Don Quixote can use the badge to tilt at windmills."

"Well, I'll be damned." Annie Leech looked from one to the other wonderingly and sat back in her chair. "Calvin Forrester, you're going soft."

Sharpie put up his hands. "Not me."

Annie snorted. "Bullshit. I'm on South Beach. I can smell a gooey marshmallow center hidden in a field of flowers. Goren's got you going soft." She eyed Gus thoughtfully. "You surprise me, though, Santelli. I thought for sure that whole thing with the brother would give you an inside track, since your sister is a junkie and you're raising her kid."

"Not all junkies are the same, Spec," Gus replied just a little coldly. Charlie had ceased being her sister's kid the day Gus brought him home twelve years ago.

Sharpie interrupted before it got too personal for his partner; he knew she hated talking about any of it. "Listen, he's got to be reprimanded, we know this. He did it. He knows it. But I am going to tell you right here right now: he'd do it again in a heartbeat. He measured all the angles, he knew exactly what was at stake, and he got his partner and some still unknown accomplices to help. How do you reprimand a guy like that? How do you cut loose a guy like that?"

Annie considered the question. The message had to be sent that NYPD resources could not be used for personal vendettas and the law should never be taken into a detective's own hands. At the same time wasn't what made Goren a great detective the same thing that made him such a risk? He had the intelligence and tenacity it took to get the job done. The same intelligence and tenacity that had earned him all those medals and commendations had also landed his ass in the fire. She put her elbows on the desk and massaged her temples. "I don't know. Game plan." She pointed at Gus. "Go."

"The usual follow up: perps he busted, friends, colleagues, whatever family he's got left. The partner's got to be questioned too. Someone is bound to give us something to rattle him," said Gus. "Detective Eames and I are not friends, but we are friendly from our days in Vice. I can talk to her."

Leech searched her memory. "He's had another partner, right?"

"No, it's been Eames for the last eight years," said Gus.

"No, Detective Eames went on maternity leave," Leech insisted. "He had a temporary partner at one point."

Gus shuffled through Goren's file, and shot Sharpie a sideways look. "You're right. G Lynne Bishop replaced Alexandra Eames in 2005."

"C-GPO?" Sharpie groaned. "I can't believe they let her anywhere near Major Case."

Gus shrugged. "Guess they aren't as picky as we thought." She was less annoyed by Bishop than her partner, but his irritation amused her.

"I am not talking to her," Sharpie warned Gus, who smiled smugly. Sharpie hated Bishop. She was a robotic little twit who never had an original thought of her own and spent most of her career parroting better cops, which at one point was Sharpie.

"I don't think Bishop is going to give us much anyway." Gus flipped through the pages in the file and looked at her boss. "It's been several years. Too much time has passed, and he's right: She's hard to talk to. Not much for original thinking."

"And she sucks," interjected Sharpie.

Leech decided to ignore him. "Eames' hearing is when?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. She's on leave, with pay," said Gus.

"Danny Ross's hearing is tomorrow morning." Leech and Ross went way back, so she was handling that one personally. "His won't take long. Letter in his file, mostly for show. No one expected him to work Deakins-like miracles with Goren, so he's more or less clear." She looked at Sharpie. "Eames will also get a letter and a stern talking to. Moran is gunning for just Goren on this one, so the other two get slaps on the wrist." She pointed at Sharpie. "Your turn."

"Goren's used to being in charge, in control," Sharpie mused. "Let's give some back to him. Gus goes in alone, and I take a shot at Eames. Divide and conquer. He may give us more if there are less of us in his face. Besides, long shot on the friends giving us anything. They are going to circle the wagons on this one."

Santelli gaped at Sharpie, her mouth hung open in shock. "Are you insane? That's the stupidest thing I have ever heard."

"No, I am not insane. Your husband makes me call him Major General Meade during the summer and that is the stupidest thing_ I_ have ever heard. Meade wasn't even _Australian_."

She ignored the dig at Greg, because that was kind of stupid. "That doesn't make any sense. Why me?" She realized she sounded like Peter, her currently super whiny ten year old.

"Because he already knows you don't like him. You weren't very subtle. I go in there alone and he's automatically suspicious and not going to buy into any buddy-buddy act. He'll probably respect your disdain more than he'd respect my regard."

"So he's your new best friend?" she fired back. "I am so telling Theo." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Oh real mature, Augusta Rose," he sneered. She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Children, children," Leech said sternly. She considered the plan. "You have a couple of days to dig up some dirt. I want statements from co-workers, including Bishop," she pointedly looked at Sharpie who rolled his eyes and sucked his teeth. "Goren's friends, neighbors, women and/or men he's dated. If you have the time, see if you can talk to some of his greatest hits." She wrote herself a couple of notes and continued. "He's got some doozies on the track list. Be picky. Also check your networks. Informants love to dish about cops under the microscope." Her phone rang, and she glanced at the name on the Caller ID. She picked it up on the third ring and hung it back up while looking at her two inspectors. "Sharpie, you take Eames," Gus opened her mouth. "Forget it, Augusta. Your prior acquaintance is exactly why Sharpie goes it alone. I won't have Kenny Moran getting his lacy red panties in a twist and accusing us of playing favorites. You take a run at Goren solo. You're behind the glass," she pointed at him. "The list changes. I don't want anyone who is not you or me behind that glass. I have lunch with the Mayor tomorrow and an afternoon meeting with the Commissioner to discuss my Integration Program, but I want to know who you've talked to and what they've said."

The inspectors got up to leave, each one squinting at the other in mock annoyance, when the phone rang again. She picked it up and said "Hold on, Mr. McCoy," with her hand over the receiver, Leech added to the departing two, "Oh, and kids? Try not to threaten any more high ranking officials, NYPD or otherwise. Please." She removed her hand "Yes sir, the phones in the basement here at 1PP are notoriously unreliable…"


	6. Newton's 1st Law of Thermodynamics

**NOTE:** Don't own a franchise; not a Krispy Kreme, not a Law and Order.

**ALSO:** Big thanks to squarey and Adair Coffin for taking a look at this chapter and ironing out some wrinkles.

**AND:** Someone pointed me to Patcat's "Untethered: Missing Scenes 5." It deals with similar themes (Bobby's post Untethered fate), and has some really great action sequences and some awesome BA stuff. If you haven't read it, you should. It's great.

* * *

Bobby and Mike entered the room to find Santelli sitting there alone. She was wearing a grey Chanel skirt suit, lighter than the one she wore last time, with a black turtleneck. Her hair was pulled back again, this time in a low ponytail and she wore minimal makeup. The effect did not soften the angles of her face. She smiled at Mike but dimmed the wattage when she looked at Bobby.

"Detectives. Please, sit." She gestured to chairs opposite her.

"Where's Sharpie?" asked Mike.

"Prior engagement," she responded. "I expect him later."

"So the Inquisition continues," Mike said sarcastically, just to let her know they knew what Santelli and Forrester had been up to.

She smiled again, "I'll be your Torquemada today." She looked frankly at Goren. "You, sir, are very popular."

"Uh…Inspector?"

"You've got a lot of fans," she said as she flipped through some papers. "A diverse list of notables: an auto mechanic, a family court lawyer, and a linguistics professor at Princeton, just to name a few."

Ah. Lewis, Harvey and Stephen. He knew they had questioned Lewis, since he called 10 minutes after "Steve McQueen" and "Legs" left the auto shop, but Bobby hadn't known about the other two. He impassively returned her look and waited.

"I dug up three ex-girlfriends. Irene Rodriguez, investment banker," she took a piece of paper and flopped it on the table. "Denise O'Connor, former assistant to a Chief of Detectives," a second sheet landed on the first, "and Lola, no last name." A third sheet joined the table. "She's an astrologer now," Gus added as an aside.

"I was ready to dish," she said conspiratorially to Mike. "A woman scorned likes to talk shit about the ex, or maybe commiserate about the one that got away. Whichever angle it took, I was ready." She looked at Goren. "And it was going to be so easy too, since you and my husband share similar taste in leggy brunettes. But you know what? Not a single one told me anything about you, except Lola. She told me how much you loved cats. Ms Rodriguez." She laughed a little remembering the conversation. "She turned downright hostile." Santelli sat back and folded her arms across her chest. "Told me where I could stick my investigation. No, wait," she held up one hand and tilted her head to slightly to the left, "No, I believe she said she'd be calling the Mayor about me since she was sure there was real corruption happening and actual crooks getting away and I am obviously out to waste tax payer money with my useless questions. And then she told me where to stick it." She chuckled. "I get told that a lot in this job, but to such a chilly degree?" She shivered a bit for effect. "Brrr!"

Mike looked at Goren. "Denise O'Connor?"

Bobby shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"Yeah me too," Mike commented sardonically.

"Denise O'Connor does anything with a 'Detective' in front of its name," said Gus. "Sorry." She grimaced as if apologizing wasn't something she was used to and it tasted sour. "That is beside the point." It was clear she wasn't sorry she slandered Denise but just sorry she got off track.

"What exactly is the point, Gus? You are doing an awful lot of tap dancing here," Mike cut to the chase.

"Consider this my shim sham shimmy, then. Here," She passed the note across the table and Bobby could make out the exquisite penmanship, a lost art in this era of emails and texts. "This is what I would call an elegantly penned note from one Lady Virginia Harrington." Bobby scanned the note written on expensive stationary with the Harrington Family crest at the top. "She had quite a lot to say about you, and Detective Eames," she pulled the paper back. "That interview took nearly an hour and a half."

"This goes in the file," Mike said. It was not a request.

"_Files_," she corrected. "Files, Detective Logan. We got such an overwhelming response that it doesn't all fit in the standard issue manila folder." She looked back at Bobby. "Lady Harrington informed us she has sent similar letters to the Mayor, the Attorney General and the Governor. She promised Sharpie she'd take it to the higher level if she had to."

"Lady Harrington was quite grateful," Bobby responded carefully.

"That's a hell of a lot of gratitude for a woman whose son you exposed as a murderer." When she received no comment, she continued. "But wait," she said in her best as-seen-on-TV voice. "There's more!" She pulled out a stack of paper and read off the top sheet.

"Former MCS Captain James Deakins," she placed the sheet with Deakins' typed statement on the table with a little more force than necessary. "Executive DA Ronald Carver." This time, she put a little more emphasis on the slap. "Detective Second Grade Galatea Lynn Bishop." Slap. "ME Elizabeth Rodgers." Slap. "Special Agent Carolyn Barek, FBI." Slap. "Some of fans from Narcotics." Flip flip flip, slap "And some groupies from CID." She fanned these out like a full house before slapping them on the table.

"Jesus, Gus. Did you get statements from everyone Goren's ever met?" Mike skimmed each sheet and saw a list of impressive names.

"No time. We'd never finish. No one could stop talking about how brilliant, helpful, and wonderful Robert Goren is." She fluttered her eyelashes at Bobby and clasped her hands together under her chin. Still no reaction. She tried a different track. "Jules Copeland called his very good friend the Mayor to express his gratitude to you in apprehending his daughters-in-law in the murders of his sons. In fact," she said with a little wonder in her tone. "His Honor joked he might have to set up a hotline just for you as calls to his office has been so frequent and so strongly positive."

Bobby flipped through the pages and felt a slight shift in the dynamic of the conversation. She must have hoped someone would give her something to use against him and instead people had rallied. He sat a little straighter in his chair. _What did Eames have to say?_

She stared him down. "I took a little field trip o Rikers," she shoved another stack of papers toward the two. "To get the greatest hits. Kind of like the clip show all those sitcoms in the 80s used to have. The bits and pieces that make up the life and times of Detective First Grade, Robert O Goren, NYPD.

"Aside from the usual – people who are glad you are in the hot seat, and hope you burn in hell – I did find several guys who were willing to make statements." She took her pen and indicated each sheet as she recited the name. "Wesley Kenderson, self styled master thief. He's a fan. Julian Bellows, grifter." She looked over the rim of her glasses at him, caught his flicker of recognition, then read aloud "'I am a criminal. In my life, I have had many run-ins with law enforcement. Detective Goren was the only one who ever treated me like a human being. This basic kindness was the beginning of a journey of self discovery through which I have found some peace with the life I have lead, a life of violence and crime. I work diligently toward a better one.' Blah blah blah." She waved her hand.

Bobby said nothing. He remembered the case; Bellows was running an elaborate Santeria con that ended in murder. Most of his actions were driven by his love for a terminally ill woman. In the end, Bobby was able to convince Carver that as part of the plea deal, Bellows' girlfriend would be admitted to a facility not far from the prison so the two could stay in contact throughout the remainder of her days. He knew that the woman had passed away last year.

Gus continued. "Harvey Gruenwald, messy little thing with the mob and his mom, but he really appreciates your visits." Flip. "Drew Ramsey, incarcerated for the murder of his girlfriend's brother. You uncovered some sort of scam the mother was running. He wanted me to thank you for your support of his sister Lisa. She is quote doing really well at NYU end quote." Flip, slap.

He caught the little hitch in her voice and knew that his silence was adding to her frustration.

"And that's not all!" she said dramatically. "Sharpie hit the women's prison and the crazies," she indicated sheets toward the bottom of the stack. "You have some fans there as well. So will Sharpie when this is all over, since he made a play date with the chess champion next week." When he just looked at her expectantly, his brown eyes measuring her every move and word, she tapped her pen on the table as she chewed the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. "Do you know how many snitches I have in my little snitch book?"

"Pardon, Inspector?" Her shift in gears was sudden, and left Bobby at the previous intersection.

"Snitches," she enunciated carefully. "Informants. Stool pigeons, sneaks, weasels, finks. Narks if you will. The foundation on which most police work is built." She shook her head. "Never mind the guessing. I have about a million; snitches from my days in Vice and from my days in Fraud. All my snitches have snitchy friends. Shit," she said arrogantly. "I bet I have the biggest network of snitches in the whole NYP frickin D. And my snitches love snitching on cops." She held one hand out to her side. "They know I'm IAB." she held out the other hand. "They hate cops." She clapped her hands together. "So we are, de facto, on the same side." She unclasped her hands to flip through some papers and tapped her pen a few times before asking. "Do you know how many snitches, approximately, had dirt on you, Detective Goren?"

"Uh, five?" Bobby guessed not very convincingly.

"Nope. Detective Logan?"

Mike made a circle with his thumb and fingers, looking right at her through the hole.

"Bingo! Zero. Null. Zéro. Cero. нул."

She sat back. The silence stretched out. In this game of chicken, Bobby would have waited forever before saying anything. After several minutes, she caved first.

"I give up," she said.

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry?" Bobby said.

"I give up. In the wake of all this," she gestured over the mess on the table which was quickly spilling onto the floor. "I honestly don't know what to do with you. None of us do. Since you're the genius here, Detective Goren, what do you think we should do?"

Bobby was stunned. From the preliminary hearing up until this very moment, he was sure IAB was going to find he was unstable and cut him loose. He was ready to take the punishment; he figured once he lost his badge, Deakins could maybe get him a job in the private sector. But as he surveyed the mess on the table and looked at Inspector Santelli, it occurred to him that perhaps there was a way out of this that didn't involve surrender. He met her gaze squarely. He didn't feel the need to tap.

"What, no response? You've investigated other cops before, closed those cases. No thoughts about your own?" she chided.

"What's going on, Gus?" Mike frowned.

"No games, Logan. No cleverly designed question traps. Detective Goren is guilty, he knows it, we know it. What I want to know now is, what does _he_ think we should do about it?" She sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

"I, um, I hadn't given it much thought," Bobby confessed. And he hadn't. But now he was thinking fast, the wheels in his brain no longer driving him toward Tate's, but instead leading him back to familiar territory. He sensed her frustration and her underlying weakness. She was going to lose control of this interview, and he was going to take it back.

"Really. That surprises me." She reached for her pen and started slowly flipping it on the page, standing it on the end and letting it slide down her fingers until it hit the notepad with a thud. She regarded him calmly, her dark eyes flat but intense. He wasn't going to underestimate her, oh no, but he knew he was about to get the upper hand. After fifteen flips of her pen, she finally spoke. "Gloves off, Detective?"

Bobby inclined his head.

She glanced at Logan and then back at Bobby. "I don't like you, Goren." Logan flinched slightly at her bluntness and leaned forward, mouth open to protest. Bobby held up a hand. This was getting interesting, and Logan's purpose at this point was ornamental. For the first time in months, Bobby knew he could handle this. He could handle her, and IAB and anything they had in store for him. Her own uncertainty meant that the NYPD was unsure. He was going to come out the other side of this. He waited for her to continue.

"To me, there's no difference between the cop in bed with organized crime and the cop shaking down immigrant bodega owners and the cop who goes on a rogue undercover operation. They are all guilty of using the system to further a personal agenda."

"That's very black and white, Inspector," said Bobby. He had to be careful with her, she was wily. It needed to be a smooth transition, from her control to his. He didn't want her to figure it out and end the interview before he made progress.

"Very," she agreed. Her eyes narrowed. "Grey is…complicated," she said.

"Your suit is grey," Bobby said just to push her a little. "Does that make you complicated?"

She regarded him coolly, not acknowledging his personal taunt but the slightest tightening around her eyes told him he hit home. The silence stretched out. Logan shifted uncomfortably. She finally spoke.

"Detective Goren, Crusading White Knight," she said somewhat mockingly. "The pride of Major Case. I wonder, even with all these people singing your praises, if anyone really knows you?"

"Maybe you do. Why don't you enlighten me?" He ignored her tone. She was about to tip her hand and he was about to catch it.

"I'd say you are Machiavellian," she said without pause. "Your end is right, so the means are justified." She shook her head to silence him as he was just about to school her on the finer points of _Il Principe_ in Italian. "I don't mean that in the way that you'd plant evidence, or take credit that wasn't yours or any other way mere mortals use it. I mean pure Machiavellian. Your methods may skirt the line occasionally, but you don't really cross it. Your ends are just, and your means only slightly less so. A neat and tidy package." She leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. "Up until now, the ends of Robert Goren and those of the NYPD have been the same, harmonious. Solving crimes, busting perps, but in some cases maybe not busting perps as hard as the system allows. Sometimes the reasons they commit their crimes make sense to you and you judge them differently.

But Tate's? That's where it all changes. That's where you stopped giving a damn about everything and everyone except your ends, and you didn't care how you got there, who you endangered, and what would happen with the dust settled. The White Knight turns Grey. How am I doing?"

Bobby stayed still. Logan went from Bobby's face to hers, watching the cerebral tennis match. He sat back. If it took Gus Santelli and her hostile questions to get that look back in Bobby's eye, he'd let her do her thing. Already the big detective was sitting up straighter and was looking more engaged than he had in weeks.

"Let's set aside bullshit politics, Detective. Whatever your boss or my boss or the big boss may want here, the fact remains that you used department resources and violated the trust of your partner, your captain, and the people of this city to further your own personal goals. It's that simple."

"Nothing is ever that simple," Bobby said with just enough condescending wisdom to infuriate her.

She inclined her head slightly. "This is where your family comes into play. This is where your newly discovered nephew comes up. This is where we talk about the junkie brother." She was bored, he could tell, and she sounded almost disappointed that he was going to use his personal circumstances as an excuse.

He refused to take her bait. There was no way he was going to work himself into a righteous fervor about his family, no way he was going to talk about Donny with her. If she wanted to make this personal, he would. But it would be about her, not him.

"Why did you become a cop, Detective?" she asked suddenly, knowing his silence was the only answer she was getting on that issue.

"Why did you?" he asked.

The question didn't even faze her. She sighed melodramatically. "I was too tall to be a Rockette, so I followed my in my Daddy's footsteps."

_Like Eames. Except the tall part. _He considered this for a moment. There was so much about her that paralleled Eames, right down to the masculine nickname. "Gus," he said testing the name. "You took your clothes off," he said.

She nodded. "I did." He wasn't going to get her on that point, she'd never felt any shame about that part of her job. "I was really good at it."

"You went in and you took your clothes off for a crowd of sweating, yelling men. You endured their hands and eyes on you, all to do your job, to do the greater good. And after all that humiliation, you were shot."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. She should have known he would do his homework. "Twice, actually."

"By another cop."

"Also true. Let me head you off at the pass so we don't take a detour into Augusta-land," she knew what he was doing, knew she was loosing control and this was her attempt to take it back.

"So yes, I was shot. I guess I could have taken a different road, hunted down the bastard who pulled the trigger, and mounted a one woman crusade to ruin his life but instead, I took my two commendations, lived through my spleen-ectomy, adapted to the other bullet still lodged in my shoulder, and had four children despite my doctor's warning I could have none." She thought for a minute dark eyes raised ceiling-ward as she tapped her chin with the fingers of her other hand, "I made the front page in the Ledger, too. Great photo of me in pasties and a g-string, cuffing a guy during the bust before the bullets flew." She winked at Mike. "I think we used it as our Christmas card that year."

Bobby wasn't distracted by her attempt to speed up his line of questioning. He was going to take his time. "Is that why you transferred to Internal Affairs? To punish the cop who shot you?" Alert now, Bobby was back on his game.

"Detective Goren," she tsk tsked. "You forgot my time in Fraud."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Fraud was a safe desk job pending recovery, but still got you in proximity to liars, whom you detest. Whom you love to punish because you couldn't mount a one woman crusade to punish the man who shot you."

She tilted her head, conceding his point, reluctantly impressed. Detective Goren was good. She could see what the fuss was about. "Then yes, I got into IAB to punish the guy who shot me. But it's bigger than that." She leaned forward quickly, her face inches from his. He smothered any reaction to having such an immediate and hostile invasion of his space, a reaction he recognized as carried over from Tate's, and waited.

"In order for the system to work, Detective, there must be checks and balances. Do you know why?" Her voice grew sharp, the knife no longer frosted with sugary icing. "Because this job, our job, is hard enough without one of our own getting in the way. And you sir, you are in the way."

"So that makes you, what, both the checks and the balances?" he countered. She sat across from him, he sat across from her and he saw now that other than their geography there was no difference between what she did and what he did. She was close enough that he could see there was no distinction between her iris and pupil; her eyes were dark and angry.

"It does," she agreed grimly.


	7. Maybe She's Not the Eames, After All

**NOTE:** Haven't been left anything in any NBC/Universal wills, so what's mine is still mine, and what's theirs is still theirs.

**ALSO: **Squarey and Adair Coffin continue to rock my beta-read world. Thanks to both!

* * *

"Do know what she's doing?" Inspector Forrester asked, looking over at Alex Eames. They stood together at the one way mirror, her eyes on Bobby, Forrester's eyes on her. Her arms were folded against her chest in what she hoped was a nonchalant pose but she worried that he could tell she was tense.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

"_I give up," said Inspector Santelli after she shoved more papers across the table at the other two detectives._ Alex could see her partner's surprise - the barest flicker of his eyelids and nothing more. Bobby sat silently as Augusta Santelli talked and Mike Logan watched. Santelli was pushing Bobby, trying to get a reaction. It wasn't working. Go, Bobby! Alex silently cheered him.

"You know what I'm doing, right?" Forrester said a little more gently.

Alex looked at the Inspector, her gaze lingering long enough to communicate that he wasn't what held her interest. She looked back at Bobby and answered, "Not yet, but I'm figuring it out."

"I could have done the traditional question and answer, here's-a-statement-sign-it-thank –you-wanna-get-dinner thing," Forrester said casually. "But that wouldn't have really gotten us anywhere."

"Definitely not to dinner, Inspector," she said cynically, her eyes still on Bobby. "I'm not really your type."

He chuckled. "Nope, I suppose you're not. Please, call me Cal. Or Sharpie if you prefer."

"Right. You shoot things." Alex was clearly not impressed.

Forrester let that pass and continued to watch her watch their respective partners and an unusually subdued Mike Logan.

"She's pushing his buttons," Alex commented, watching Bobby's body language. To an untrained eye he appeared stoic, but she knew better. Bobby's tells were nearly imperceptible to anyone else; the tensing of his fingers as they rested on the table, the very slight shift in body weight from one foot to the other as he sat folded in a chair designed for lesser men. Even through a glass barrier, Alex was alert to his slightest movement.

Forrester looked at his partner, sitting coolly as Goren was slowly becoming more animated. "See how he's sitting up straighter, and there's a bit of fight back in him? I didn't think guns blazing was the best approach, but she insisted. She was right."

"Santelli's gotten really good," Alex acknowledged. Getting a reaction from Bobby, especially the subtle signs he showed, took an expert.

He ran a hand through his hair, a floppy affair that fell in expertly trimmed disarray. "Oh right," he sounded surprised. "I forgot you had some overlap. Yeah, since your green days in Vice, she's been trained by the best," he said immodestly. Alex glanced over at him and went back to watching.

"The thing is Alex, may I call you Alex?" She nodded; sharp jerky movements of her head but her eyes never left the other room. "The thing is Alex, you and I could sit and talk. After awhile my devilish looks and roguish charm would wear you down and you would tell me everything."

She snorted. "You'd like to think so."

"Oh, I know so," Forrester said as he examined the results of his latest manicure. "I've been doing this a long time." He regarded her from under long lashes, the kind men always seem to have and women always seem to want for themselves. "You and I are very similar, Alex; practical, logical. We don't like to waste time."

"So asking me questions in a more formal setting would be a waste of time?" She turned and looked at him.

"Absolutely. You are just going to tell me what countless others have. Detective Goren is a good man. Detective Goren is a great cop. Detective Goren is a brilliant investigator. Detective Goren is tall," he smiled.

She smiled then too. Damnit, he _was_ roguish and charming.

"Despite what you think, or what your old man may have told you about Internal Affairs, we aren't the bad guys here. We don't want to destroy Detective Goren's life. We just need to handle this matter the best way possible."

She rolled her eyes. "You aren't going to tell me you have his best interests at heart, are you, Inspector? That you really just want to help him, so I need to help you help him?" she asked skeptically.

"Hell no," he laughed. "You are too smart to fall for that line of crap. The only interests I have belong to the NYPD. Is Detective Goren a risk, will he do this again, how do we send the message, to him and any others contemplating the same thing, that it will not be tolerated? Those are our interests."

Alex said nothing.

He tried again. "I don't give a rat's ass if you believe me or not, Alex, but I like Detective Goren. I think Detective Goren is a good man. I think he's a great cop and he's a brilliant investigator and yes, I think Detective Goren is tall." She couldn't help it, she laughed.

"See?" He said pointing at her and smiling back. "Gotcha."

They both stood and watched the proceedings in companionable silence. "I've been a cop a long time," Forrester said after a few minutes. "My instincts are so good I should insure them with Lloyd's of London, like Tina Turner's legs. I believe in Detective Goren. Alex. I believe he's got a lot of good, solid policing years ahead of him. I believe that he is a sane man, before Tate's and now. When you keep people from doing what they do best, _that's_ what makes them insane."

Alex frowned. There is no way Calvin Forrester could know that Bobby had said similar words to her once, many years ago, about paranoid Chess Master David Blake. Blake's paranoia had been fueled by the US Government's refusal to let him back into the country because he had once played in Cuba. Made insane by the burden of his genius, Blake eventually committed murder to stop a conspiracy of his own devising. Forrester couldn't have known, but Alex never forgot those words. She'd been watching Bobby follow an eerily similar path of destruction ever since Mark Ford Brady – no, wait. If she were going to be honest, it had really started with her own kidnapping at the hands of Declan Gage's daughter, Jo. Was Bobby's inability to save her what triggered his decline? If Bobby couldn't be a cop, if he couldn't do what he did best, would he end up like Blake, further isolated and ultimately rendered insane by his own genius?

Cal continued, completely oblivious to her inner struggle. "The NYPD can't afford to loose good cops. We need them."

Her cop's eye took in Forrester's neatly tailored suit – expensive - his haircut - also expensive - and his manicure, regularly maintained and probably expensive. He was pretty, with those blue Paul Newman eyes and that young Steve McQueen swagger. She had no doubt he could and had used his charms to cajole witnesses into spilling their guts; it was a variation on a theme that she and Bobby had perfected over the years. She could see that he was earnest about his respect for Bobby and his desire to help. Bobby needed all the friends he could get, so she decided to go with her own gut and trust Calvin Forester.

"He needs us, too," she said quietly, more to herself than anyone.

Forrester considered this for a moment. "Yeah, you're right. That's the way of these relationships. Symbiotic; like the bird that picks the rot out of the crocodile's teeth. The bird performs the service and in gratitude, the crocodile doesn't chomp the bird.

She looked at her partner and smiled at him through the one way mirror. "Bobby would know exactly which species you are talking about," she said almost wistfully.

"Yeah, Gus would too. She's the one who told me about it. Henry, the middle kid, just did a report on them."

"He looks like shit," Alex said abruptly. She wanted to steer the conversation away from the intensely personal. Forrester tilted his head to one side and considered this. He understood that partners saw more than most people did. "The cut of the suit is nice, but I would never have put that tie with that shirt," he said, just to dissolve the tension. She relaxed a little, her arms hanging a little looser across her torso.

"Here's the deal, Alex: I don't care if we're the croc and he's the bird, or vice versa, although I suspect we both know who the croc is. It works. And up until now it works well. Sure, he's a little out of whack recently. How could he not be? Personal setbacks have a way of catching up to a person." Alex continued to stare at Bobby through the one way mirror.

She tossed her chin in Gus's direction. "I don't think she's as understanding, Cal."

"She will be," Cal responded confidently. "She's just pissed because the two of them are a lot alike. It's hard when you see your own weaknesses reflected back at you." He pointed at Gus through the glass. "That's one of the reasons why she's in there and I am in here. She'll get where we are but needs some more convincing."

"Because her instincts aren't as good?" she mocked him.

"Not at all," he said as if he didn't notice her tone. "Her instincts are phenomenal. But sometimes personal experience muddies the message. In Goren's case, the nephew, the junkie sibling, they hit close to home. If the butterfly flapped its wings one more or one less time, it could have been Gus going AWOL at Tate's Correctional, searching for her nephew."

"I'd do anything for my nephew," she commented.

"Exactly. That's part of the reason why you supported his cockamamie scheme from the beginning." Forrester said, as if he realized when she said "my nephew" it was interchangeable with "Bobby."

Alex mouth quirked up on one side. "When Bobby first brought it up, I thought it was insane. But that kid died from being mistreated at that hospital and no one cared. That wasn't right. I knew Bobby was going to do it anyway, so I helped. He gets an idea, and it's impossible for him to let it go." She glanced ruefully at Sharpie.

"Given how much loss he's endured recently, the prospect of a new nephew was too much to resist." Forrester theorized. "Sure, he was just as driven by the injustices at Tate's; at his very core, Detective Goren is a just man. But if we add injustice plus the long lost nephew? For a guy like Goren, that's irresistible math." They watched as Gus leaned forward, her face very near Bobby's.

Forrester walked over to the sound box and hit the switch. Gus was going to get unpleasant, and he didn't need Alex Eames getting her back up over it. She didn't protest, just watched silently.

"We couldn't get anything," Cal said. "Not a damn thing, not from a snitch, not from any of your convicts, and not from any of the families. Do you know how rare that is?"

Alex shrugged as she looked away from the other room. Bobby was fully engaged now; his entire being focused on the IAB inspector sitting in front of him. Alex wondered if it would burn, being the absolute center of such regard. "Not surprised. We're good."

Forrester nodded. "We're good too." He looked at his partner through the one way mirror. "You and she have so many similarities right down to the male nicknames and the driving." He smiled at her start of surprise. "Yeah, we know. You drive. So does Gus. She writes the reports, so do you." His voice took on a sing song quality. "Her dad's a cop, history with Vice, you both have ovaries and two X chromosomes, et cetera et cetera." Alex didn't even blink. "So she thinks she's the Eames." He kept looking at Gus as he said, "But the thing is, she's pulled in so many different directions: the family, the job, the trauma of a betrayal from long ago, the lasting physical and psychological effects of being shot that way. I worry," he smiled sadly. "So it's up to me to make sure it doesn't consume her. I keep her from the edge and when she goes over? I pull her back." He looked over at Alex. "I think that makes me the Eames."

"Sometimes, you have to do it against their will," Alex said.

"And boy, do they ever get pissed about it," he responded.

They looked at each other in complete understanding.

"I like punishing bad guys, Alex," he said frankly. "I like punishing bad cops. I believe in what we all do and my small contribution to that is to clean up the inside so you can focus on the outside. I hate that one bad cop gives us all a bad name."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," she conceded.

"Why would you?" he said. "IAB is a bunch of rats who make it hard for working cops, real cops, to do their jobs right?" He waved his hand in the air. "That couldn't be further from the truth." He smiled at her, a gorgeous flexing of muscle and movie star shine. "But this isn't about my IAB soapbox, so I'll have to roll that out for you some other time. At my core, Alex, I am also a just man." He gestured to Bobby. "Removing Robert Goren from the force is not a just action. I got that sense the first time we questioned him, and all the subsequent investigation we've done supports it."

"But he can't not be punished either," Alex said, knowing that was where Sharpie was headed and knowing that he was right.

"Like your nephew, and his, and hers," he pointed to Gus. "There are always consequences for our actions when we break rules," Sharpie said. "I have my own ideas on how this should shake down, but I don't know." He shook his head.

"Instincts failing you?" she asked. She sought a light, teasing tone, but the gravity of the situation rendered that impossible.

Forrester laughed, a warm rich sound that wrapped around her frayed nerves like a warm blanket from the dryer. "Nope. But no one can predict the effect all the bullshit politics is going to have on this case. I can only report our findings and suggest a course of action. Then, it's out of my hands."


	8. Leech Smacks Down

**NOTE:** Still don't own much, and after today even less. But my grad school apps are almost finished and my taxes are done, so I can play in Dick Wolf's sandbox again. I brought some of my own toys, but most of them are his.

**ALSO:** Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed. Sorry it too so long to update. Hopefully real life will stop interfering.

**AND:** Once again, Squarey rocks my beta-ing world. Seriously people, squarey's a genius.

* * *

Annie Leech was not happy. She glared with equal intensity at her two best inspectors while cracking her knuckles with an audible pop! that made them both think of pinstripe suits, brass knuckles and sleeping with the fishes. They were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. After a few minutes, she squinted as her pointer finger danced between the two of them to some unheard tune before landing on Sharpie. She deliberately turned to face Gus.

"I am not really sure where to start, Santelli," she said with a little disbelief in her voice. "I sat in on your little question and answer this afternoon. I have never seen you so off your game. No, Calvin," she said without turning to face him responding to the creak of the chair and the slight shift of his weight as he leaned forward. "When I want you to add something, Calvin, I'll let you know." Her eyes still on Gus, she raised one brow. "Well?"

Gus wished she'd mastered the one eyebrow lift, it was so intimidating. "Sorry, Spec?" she said. Maybe playing dumb would give her a couple of extra minutes to find some reason, any reason, why the Goren questioning had gone so badly.

"Don't shit me, Augusta. If you don't know how or when it went wrong now, trying to stall isn't going to give you a revelation. You fucked up. Classic reversal, then he was up and out of his chair, circling you like a vulture over a carcass, picking you clean." Gus clenched her teeth and took a breath. It still frosted her cookies to think about.

"Yeah, it should piss you off," the Spec said, noticing Gus tensed. "It pissed me off to watch it – Calvin. I don't believe I said you could speak yet." Again, the Spec didn't even turn to look at Calvin, but knew he wanted to say something. She focused on Gus. "When's the last time you lost the reins like that?"

"I don't know," Gus answered honestly. It was clear that honesty was the only thing that might save her ass today. "He's good."

"Good?" Leech snorted. "He's one of the best I've ever seen. So what gives? Is it because he's easy on the eyes? No, Calvin." Her eyes stayed on Gus but her hand went up in a classic talk to it gesture. "I am still not addressing to you."

Gus looked at her boss as if the older woman had gone insane. Sure, Goren was attractive, but not her type. Besides, she'd never let attraction get in the way of questioning a suspect. "Wow. No."

"Talk to me, Augusta, because it looked really bad from where I was sitting."

Gus put her elbow on the arm of her chair and rested her head on her palm. "Shit, Spec. I had him, I knew I had him. Somewhere along the line he just took it from me." Gus shook her head. "I tried to get it back. And I, I couldn't." The admission hurt.

The Spec softened a little. "You had a good run, Inspector. You were bound to come up against someone better. Now it's time to graciously accept defeat and learn from the experience," She leaned back in her chair. "He's tall. You're tall. Start with incorporating that looming thing he does so effectively."

"Spec, I-" Calvin tried to speak just to be cut off.

"Calvin, did I give permission for you to talk?" she turned her laser gaze to him and he was, for the first time in his professional career, effectively silenced. He shook his head. "Didn't think so," she said. She turned back from Gus.

"The Commissioner and the Mayor both approved my Integration Proposal this week," the Spec said. "After seeing you with Goren, Augusta, I want you to be the test pilot. It's time you went back out."

"Come on, Spec," Gus implored, looking at Cal for support, who gestured with his hand that his mouth was zippered shut. "I mess up once in how many years and you are going to punish me?" Gus tried not to panic at the thought of going back out on the street. Leech's Integration Program sent IAB Inspectors out as uniforms as a good will gesture designed to promote trust; Leech's own answer to the blue wall of silence. The program's aim was to show other cops that IAB wasn't the secret police while allowing IAB to massage the internal network so cops on the up and up would be comfortable approaching Inspectors to report misconduct. The NYPD was vast, and in order to keep ahead of corruption Leech wanted her team to take a more proactive stand. That meant putting on the old uniform and walking a beat for a couple of weeks in rotation.

"It's not a punishment, Augusta," said the Spec sharply, taking Gus' words as criticism of this important, groundbreaking program. "It's exercise. And after what I saw, you definitely need some."

Gus winced but said nothing.

"I want you to get the tapes of the prelim hearing, then yours and Calvin's interrogation, and then your interrogation. Watch and listen to them until you are sick of your own voice and you want to put your hand through a wall if you have to hear his again. And then listen to them one more time." She jotted a note on a green Post-It shaped like a frog. "I want a report of exactly when you lost control, how it happened, and what you could have done differently. You and I are going over it with a fine tooth comb, Augusta. Check with Melvin to schedule a time with me, a big block of time." She held up her hand with her pointer finger and thumb spread wide apart. "I don't want it happening again, ever." She flipped through a file on her desk. "In two weeks, you're going out on patrol, precinct assignment TBD." She looked up at Gus again and slightly gentled her tone. "I am also giving this to you because I trust you, Augusta. It's important that this program succeed and I want the first go round to be as hassle free as possible. I know you can do it." Gus nodded once, and the Spec folded her arms across her chest.

"Now, you are welcome to leave and go lick your wounds or you can stay and watch Calvin get his." Gus made no move to go. "Thought so." Turning to face him finally, the Spec regarded Calvin coolly. He took this as permission to speak, which of course it wasn't.

"Shhhht." She said and punctuated her sound by pinching her thumb and forefinger together. "No editorial from you. It's not your department; it's not your decision. Augusta goes out on patrol you stay here. I'll give you a temporary partner." Calvin couldn't quite hide his scowl and prayed her hadn't made his boss so mad as to give him Bishop again. He was going to say something and realized she still hadn't given him permission to speak, so he held his tongue.

Annie Leech rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. Taking a deep breath, she looked from one inspector to the other and blurted, "Is it me, or this case turning you both into fucking loons?" The question was obviously rhetorical, so both inspectors remained silent. Her steady gaze zeroed in on Calvin and stayed there.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, since my feeble old memory may be a little hazy, but did I not say the only people allowed behind the glass were myself and you, Calvin?" He smiled, hoping to dazzle her but the smile slowly faded when her expression did not change. "Well?" she pushed. He didn't answer. She ploughed on.

"So imagine, Calvin, my surprise when I walked into that observation room and I found you getting cozy with Detective Eames."

He wisely said nothing.

"So I thought to my self: 'Self? Apparently you have a long lost twin. Because surely, Calvin let this woman in thinking it was you. THE ONLY OTHER PERSON ALLOWED BEHIND THAT GLASS.' Is that what happened, Calvin?"

He shook his head. The way she kept repeating his name did not bode well.

"Then why don't you explain what did happen? Because I know what I said," she punctuated her angry tone with a finger jab toward her chest. "And Gus knows what I said." She jammed her finger toward Santelli. "But you apparently don't give a fuck what I say." The finger hovered accusingly at him.

Calvin opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Tread carefully here, Calvin. Your smooth talking won't get you far today. I give you free reign here most of the time, but the one time I give you a direct, specific order, you disobey."

Calvin abruptly closed his mouth and looked at Gus in silent entreaty for help. Not feeling particularly charitable since Cal was the one who threw her to the lion named Goren, Gus said nothing.

"I hold your fate in my hands," Leech warned. "And my fist is closing, Calvin."

"You're right, Spec," he said.

Leech narrowed her eyes at him, her mind searching for the angle he was playing, because Calvin Forrester was an expert at playing angles.

"No, really. You're right. I should have cleared it with you first," he admitted contritely.

"I don't like being blindsided, and that is all the two of you have done this entire case," her tone had downshifted from seething to pissy but they were not out of the way of her rage yet. "Walking in and seeing Eames in there was a smack to the face."

"I am absolutely in the wrong, Spec," he said again. "You said no one else, and I brought her in."

She sighed. His remorse was genuine, damnit. Leave it to Forrester to diffuse her anger when she was really working herself up to blow off some steam. "Well?"

"Spec?"

"What the hell did you learn, Forrester? Did you accomplish whatever it is you set out to do?"

"Yeah," he said.

"OK, you are making me work way too hard for as mad as you made me. Spill it."

"Alexandra Eames is a good cop. She went along with his scheme because people were dying at that hospital and it had to be stopped. There is nothing else."

"Don't you dare say 'I told you so,'" Gus interjected.

"Well, I did."

Gus let her finger do the talking.

The Spec ignored this outburst and looked thoughtful. "OK, so Eames is clean, gave us nothing, but you hoped to shake her into something by what, letting her watch Gus get in Goren's face? Or rather, letting Goren get in Gus's face?" She waved her hand in Gus's direction.

"Listen, they haven't talked or seen each other since his preliminary hearing. I figured, if we were going to get anything from her we had to rattle her by rattling him."

"It didn't work," said the Spec. "He can't be rattled." She steepled her fingers and tapped the tips together. "We could keep it going I suppose. I could send you both back in there to see what else he's got, but it's a waste of time." She leaned forward and her old chair protested the quick change in position. She flipped through Forrester's report on the partner. "Eames isn't going to roll, and let's face it, whatever personal crisis Goren has going on, it looks like he's back on track." She looked from one Inspector to another. They braced themselves for the boom that was about to be lowered. "Whatever your personal feelings are set them aside. I plan to tell the Commissioner that if Chief of Dickheads Moran and MCS don't want Goren, I do." She looked at her two best people and waited for them to react.

She was disappointed. Neither one of them seemed to care. "What? Nothing? I expected some sort of outburst, especially from you, Augusta."

Gus shrugged. "It's not a secret that I don't like him, but he's obviously a good cop. So regardless of how I feel personally, it's your show, Spec. You see potential where others have written it off," she said candidly. "I trust your judgment.

Leech blinked in surprise.

"She's right, Spec," Calvin concurred. "We all have labels. I'm a fag, Gilmore's got a prosthetic leg, Briggs is a klutz who's messed up some crime scenes in his day, and then there's Gus here. The list goes on." He leaned forward. "Other divisions define us as just these things, and then dismiss us as being defective. You know we're good cops." He flicked his hand as if banishing any ill will he might have had. "We'll make room for the whack job, if that's what you want."

Leech felt a little prickle behind her eyes. "Oh. OK." She cleared her throat a couple of times. "I called a meeting with the Mayor, the Commissioner, Moran and Ross for tomorrow. I'd like you two to be there. 2pm, conference room at on the fifth floor. Dismissed." Once they were gone, Leech reached for a seldom used box of Kleenex and blew her nose.


	9. Bobby and Mike Walk Into a Bar

**NOTE:** None of these are mine. But I promise to return them in the condition in which I borrowed them.

**ALSO:** Squarey continues to be da bomb.

**AND:** Thanks to everyone for leaving such nice reviews, I am glad you are enjoying the story!

* * *

"Glenlivet for you." Logan put the glass in front of Bobby and took the seat opposite him in the booth. "Guinness for me. With a Captain appetizer." He waggled his eyebrows and smiled, placing the empty shot glass upside down on the table. "On me, of course." He raised his pint glass. "I think you're gonna come out the other side on this, pal. Cheers." They clinked glasses and drank.

Logan set down his beer. "I ain't gonna lie, Goren, I was worried. It was looking pretty bad." He shook his head.

"I'm still worried," Bobby said. He knew he wasn't in the clear yet. Ross let him know there was a meeting tomorrow to hand down the verdict on his case, and his captain didn't have any words of comfort.

"_I have no idea what will happen," _he'd said. _"But Goren, if it turns out that you are still my detective, you and I are going to have our own little talk when the dust settles."_

_"I look forward to it,"_ Bobby had responded, which was the absolute truth. He'd endure a hundred little talks with Ross if it meant he could keep his badge.

"I don't think they are gonna cut you loose, if that's what you're worried about" Logan declared. "Not to brag, but I can read the signs." Logan took another drink. "Hell, I bet you'll get a demotion and then it's back to business as usual."

"I wish I had your faith, Mike."

Mike jabbed his finger on to the table. "I guarantee you'll never see dawn on Staten Island," he chuckled. "Which sucks, by the way."

The two men drank in silence. The bar was filled with off duty cops, which wasn't unusual for a place so close to 1 PP. As he looked around, a couple of the guys caught Bobby's eye – a subtle way to show their support. He was surprised but acknowledged them with a nod of his own.

Mike's voice brought him back to the conversation. "When Santelli came in alone? I thought for sure you were a goner. She's got a reputation, you know, for cracking people. That aloof thing again."

Bobby thought back to his interaction with Santelli. She was good, and he had been energized by the exchange in a way he hadn't been in months.

"_And you are the checks and balances," he said._

"_I am," she agreed. _

He sipped his scotch and rolled the glass between his hands. "I don't think I am free just yet," he said quietly.

"Not just yet," Mike agreed. "But your ass is also not grass, my friend. Thank your guardian angel for that." He looked passed Bobby toward the door of small, dimly lit bar. "And here she comes," he said so softly Bobby almost missed it. "Gotta get another round," Logan said quickly and dashed off toward the bar, beer and coaster in hand.

Bobby watched him go, puzzled at the other man's sudden departure. He craned his neck behind him to see who had walked in just as he heard the THUNK of another glass being slammed on his table. His gaze slowly traveled up the glass; it was filled with a pale green liquid and rimmed with a generous portion of sodium chloride.

Margarita, check.

Rocks, check.

Salt, check.

_Oh shit, Eames._ Check.

"Bobby," she said.

"Eames," He shifted uncomfortably. He looked around for backup but Mike was busy at the bar. Logan spared a glance at Bobby and hoisted his glass in salute and went back to his conversation with two guys from Organized Crime. Bobby turned back to look at his partner who had taken the seat across from him. His hand absently rubbed the back of his neck. It had suddenly gotten very warm in here.

"So, Bobby, how are things?" she said, with a little edge to her voice. It was clear she was not trying to make conversation.

"Uh, Eames, I don't think, um, it's just, uh now is not the best time…"

"No, see, Bobby, now _is_ the best time. If we wait for your best time, this conversation will never happen."

Bobby looked around helplessly, and then fluttered his hands in defeat. His eyes settled back on Eames. She looked tired but good, still radiating that air of quiet strength he'd come to count on; the anchor that held him steady. As much as he desperately needed her now, he couldn't involve her anymore in his mess. He was scared shitless that she'd hoist the anchor and sail away and that would truly break him. He wanted to desperately preserve whatever they had left. "Eames, there's, uh, there's a big crowd here."

"Spare me, Bobby. If you are too chicken shit to talk to me on the phone, you can just suck it up and do it here. I'll behave myself." To illustrate her point, she smiled and waved at Mike and his pals over at the bar who all turned and toasted her before going back to their conversation.

"Bait and switch," Bobby mumbled.

"Bingo, Detective," she said and sipped her margarita. The cold liquid sliding down her throat was soothing. "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "what gives?"

Bobby shrugged. He wasn't prepared to see her and his thoughts were scattering. He felt the urge to tap again but he fought it. Eames was observant, and he didn't want her to know that he wasn't as together as he appeared. He concentrated on his glass instead.

"This works better if you actually talk to me, Bobby," she said dryly.

"Did, um, did Internal Affairs talk to you?" he ventured, thinking her questioning was a safe topic.

She sipped gingerly and didn't answer right away. He tensed. Maybe it wasn't a safe topic after all. Had her questioning been so difficult it was too hard for her to discuss? Had he finally crossed a line with her, involving her so deeply in the tar pit of his life that she was even now drafting another letter saying she'd changed her mind, that he was erratic and volatile after all? Maybe the acquired taste of him had settled like ashes in her mouth. He drank deeply from his glass and began to surreptitiously tap on the side, his thumb making prints in the condensation.

She eyed him thoughtfully. "He did," she finally said, as if weighing what she was going to say. "He was quite the smooth talker."

"Forrester," said Bobby.

She nodded. "He and I had a nice chat as we watched you eviscerate his partner."

"You, uh, you saw that?" Bobby was incredulous.

"Sure did. Poor Gus Santelli." Eames shook her head. "She's been blindsided twice now by other cops," she said as she put her chin in her hand, elbow on the table and regarded him coolly. "At least you didn't have a gun like the last guy."

"I uh, I didn't know, you know, anyone was back there." He swirled the dregs of his drink in the glass and wondered if melted ice and watered down scotch could give him any insight - tea leaves for a desperate man. Probably not. "I didn't know that uh, you were back there."

"Yeah, that was pretty clear," she said with her characteristic snark. "I think my favorite part was when you accused her of using the department to execute her own vendetta against the cop that shot her." She took a drink. "Or maybe it was when you referred to her as Her Majesty, Queen of the NYPD, guardian of checks, defender of balances. Ruthless," she chuckled. "I thought she was going to come out of her chair and smack you silly."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, suddenly.

Since they were no longer talking about Internal Affairs or her questioning, she ignored his harsh tone. "How about, 'Gee, Eames, it's great to see you. Sorry I've been a jerk lately, things have been crazy. Here, let me tell you about it.'" She looked at him expectantly.

"Eames, it's, uh, it _is_ great to see you," he said, earnestly quiet.

She smiled. "See, that wasn't so hard."

He started to tap a little more emphatically on the outside of his glass, unable to stop himself. He left whorls and lines in the condensation, but not a whole print; his pre-Tate's make-over to alter his fingertips still hadn't healed. He wondered if they ever would. Hell, he wasn't too sure _he'd_ ever heal. Eames focused on this motion, knowing it was his turn to speak. She knew the tapping was a way for him to externally gather his wits and she waited patiently.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," he said finally, breaking the awkward silence. He took a drink of his melted ice scotch water and then shoved the glass in front of him. He needed another, but he couldn't leave.

"For which part, Bobby?' she prodded gently.

Bobby didn't know what she wanted from him, and there was so much to say he didn't know where to start. He looked at her, hoping to find the answer in her face, but wasn't confident about what he read there. A slight draft whispered across his face, and he looked down to find another full scotch in front of him, his empty glass whizzing past in the hands of Mike Logan. Logan once again settled in at the bar.

"Ah," she said knowingly. "Would this be the part where you jeopardized my career, the part where you almost got yourself killed, or the part where you shut me out?" Like so many times before, Eames spelled it out for him. She excelled at exposition, often interpreting his garbled thoughts into smooth and concise language that others could comprehend. It was one of the things that made them such a great team.

"Yes. No. All of it," he said savagely, and then looked around to see if they were overheard. They weren't; it was a busy bar after all, and all anyone saw were two partners sharing a drink after a long ordeal. All was right in their post-work world, even if nothing was quite right in Bobby's. "I don't know," he finally said wearily.

"Ah. Now we are getting somewhere," she said. "You do owe me an apology, Bobby. But I want to be very clear on what it's for exactly, because you don't seem to have a clue. Some detective," she snorted. She took a fortifying drink.

"That's right," he said self depreciatingly. "For a guy with a 'deep understanding of human behavior,'" he mocked her words from so long ago. "I don't know what the hell to do here, Eames." His voice rose, and he heard conversations stop around him. He smiled weakly at the couple of guys who were staring at them, and the background noise resumed.

Bobby lowered his voice. "Eames, it's all my fault. All of it." He downed the drink and looked at the empty glass. "The Gages, Joe's case, Frank, Tate's." He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Everything that's poison about me has reached out and touched you," he said, emphasizing the difference between the two of them with the flailing of his hand. "Worse, I've hurt you. I, just…it's just that, I don't know how to fix this."

She scowled at him and slammed her drink down, sloshing the liquid on the table. Bobby half wondered if Mike would show up with a bar rag to swipe up the mess. "That's it," she said fiercely, her voice lowered but intent. "Of all the arrogant, presumptuous…" She took deep a breath. "Listen to me, Bobby, because I am only going to say this once."

She held up a finger. "One: You are not responsible for the Gages. Jo is sick, Declan made her that way. Jo did what she did and would have continued, but we stopped her. _We_ stopped her, Bobby. You and me. Not you alone. _We_." Her finger gestured between the two of them as if tracing the invisible bond that held them together.

"Two: Opening Joe's case gave me closure in a way I never had but desperately needed. It hurt like hell - it was like he died all over again." There was a slight catch in her voice and she paused to get her bearings. "What I'm left with is a sense of peace about his loss that I didn't have before. I don't know how to thank you for that, Bobby, but I am grateful.

"Three: Frank used me to get to you. That's on Frank," She tapped her finger on the table. "That's not on you. It's on _Frank_."

"Four: People were dying at Tate's, Bobby. _Dying_. How dare you think that I would sit back and let that happen? If it were my nephew, don't you think it would have gone down the same for me?" She leaned forward. "I chose to help you. _I_ chose. Me," She pointed to herself. "Not you." She pointed to him. "You cannot take responsibility for my choices. I won't let you.

"Enough of this, Bobby. Enough." She was breathing heavily, her fists clenched as she tried not to punch him, or cry, or both. He continued to stare at his glass. She inhaled and exhaled loudly. "I accept your apology, Bobby. For endangering yourself and making me worry. And I accept you apology for shutting me out, but that stops now. We are a team." She unclenched her fists and made a dismissive motion with her hands. "The rest is bullshit."

"Eames," he said breathlessly.

"Why are you trying to take more than is yours?" she asked softly. "Between your mom, and Brady, and Frank and Donnie, don't you feel bad enough, Bobby?" Her eyes held nothing but the sympathy born from deep and abiding regard. "Let me handle what's mine. I promise we are strong enough." They had been through so much together, and so often she saw things clearer than he did. Her support was more than he deserved, but he wouldn't question it anymore.

She reached her hand across the table but stopped short of touching his arm. He slowly reached out his hand and tentatively covered hers. He was breathing heavily, still unsure of so much, but not of her and not of them. Not anymore.


	10. Coming DownGoing Up

**NOTE:** Short, but the next bit is substantial. Hope to have it up soon.

**ALSO:** Thanks to squarey, who so often makes chaos into order with her mad beta skillz.

**AND:** Thanks for reading!

* * *

"Detectives," intoned Ross. "Are you ready?" He looked at Logan and Goren. Mike was sitting at his desk; Bobby was in a chair opposite, leaning forward and twiddling with some paperclips on the surface. Eames was standing nearby, arms folded across her chest. Bobby concentrated on not jiggling his leg or tapping his fingers. The entire group had a funerary air about them, as if they were waiting for their names to be called by the firing squad. Probably not that far from the truth, Bobby mused.

"The Day of Judgment is at hand," said Mike, getting out of the chair. He smiled at Bobby. "Ready pal?" he said, and started making his way toward the elevator bank. Eames gave Bobby a tight smile and reached out as if to squeeze his arm, but dropped her hand before she made contact. They rarely touched; besides, he knew he had her support, always. She gave Ross a pointed look and went to sit at her own desk. Ross followed Logan's path, and then Bobby brought up the rear. Bobby's steps felt heavy; the weight of this whole ordeal was finally catching up to him. Mike pressed the down button as the three men waited by the elevators.

"Wait," called a voice behind them. _Eames' voice. _She lightly jogged to catch up and then stood defiantly with them.

"Detective Eames," Ross said. "Your loyalty to your partner is admirable, and now a matter of record. Records, actually - both your record and mine. But this flight's full."

"Sorry, Captain," she said, determined. "I'm coming."

Ross searched her face and nodded curtly. "You'll have to sit outside until it's over. Then you'll be the first to know."

"After the mayor," inserted Mike.

"Thank you, Detective," said Ross sarcastically.

"And IAB," said Mike again.

"Right. Thanks," said an increasingly testy Ross.

"And the Commissioner," Mike continued as they all got on the elevator and the doors shut.

"We get it, Mike," groused Ross.

"The Chief of Ds…"

* * *

Gus and Sharpie waited for an elevator. It usually took twice as long for the elevator to reach the basement as it did any other floor. Sharpie had a theory about how everything in the building, even the elevators, avoided IAB, and Gus secretly admitted he might have something.

"The Spec already up there?" Sharpie asked.

Gus nodded. "She went up about a half hour ago when the Mayor arrived."

"Right. Your City Hall Boyfriend," he teased. She rolled her eyes at him. "What? I think it's pretty clear that little guy has a thing for tall women. You, my dear Augusta, are as tall as they come," Sharpie chuckled. "Why, he must think he's gazing up at Heaven when he sees you."

"Shut up," she said dismissively. "I did detail for him a handful of times before the twins. It's no big deal. He likes me because I'm hard to make as a cop."

"And you look stunning in evening wear," he said. "You worked a couple of galas, right?"

She nodded. "Greg likes to pretend he's with the Australian consulate at those things, so I work and he schmoozes." She shrugged. "The food's usually good."

"Aussies," said Sharpie as if that explained her husband's offbeat sense of humor. "I bet His Honor's thrilled to see you," he predicted. "I bet he waxes poetic about it."

She ignored him. "Are you ready?" she asked as the doors opened.

"Yeah," he said stepping inside. She hit the button for the correct floor and stared at the numbers lighting up as they ascended.

"Are you freaked out about the reassignment?" he said.

"Nope," she replied breezily. "Are you?"

"Nope," he said, echoing her tone. He put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He began to whistle the theme to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

She cast him a sidelong glance. "Not even if she gives you Bishop?"

"Nah. Ain't gonna happen," he said confidently. "I bet I get Goren."

"Great, Smug and Smugger," she snarked. "Not sure which would be which." She gave it some thought. "Wouldn't matter, you'd both be annoying."

He grinned at her and she smiled back. Then her smile faltered.

"Sharps?" she said, her voice a little less cocky.

"Yeah?"

"I'm freaked out about the reassignment," she admitted.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me too." He reached out and touched her hand reassuringly. The doors opened and they were on the fifth floor.


	11. Peripeteia

NOTE: I rent.

ALSO: Squarey rules.

AND: Thanks.

* * *

Bobby entered the room to find the Mayor, the Commissioner, the Chief of Detectives, and the Chief of Inspectors already seated at an oval shaped table. The Mayor sat at the extreme end, while the Commissioner sat at Bobby's 1 o'clock, with an unknown woman in a neat suit on the Mayor's other side. The Chief of Detectives sat at Bobby's 2, and directly across the table from Moran sat the Chief of Inspectors. Santelli and Forrester flanked their boss, seated in chairs set against the wall around the perimeter of the room.

"Goodness, this is a who's who!" his Honor declared as he strode over to the incoming group from MCS. "Daniel!" he said as he shook Ross's hand. "You're looking well,"

"Thank you, Your Honor," Ross dutifully replied.

"How are those boys of yours?" asked the Mayor.

"They're teenagers, sir," he said.

His Honor nodded in understanding. "Nightmares," he said sympathetically.

"They have their moments," replied Ross. "Thank you for asking." The Captain took a seat directly behind the Chief of Ds, reaching over to take the Commissioner's hand in a firm grip, as the Mayor moved on.

"Michael," said the Mayor, vigorously shaking Logan's hand. "You intending on punching any city officials today?" He looked around conspiratorially. "I think I am the only one here, I may be in danger."

"Not planning to, no," replied Mike. "But I like to keep my options open, sir"

The Mayor laughed and looked back at Santelli. "I am appointing you my bodyguard today, Augusta. If he makes a move…"

"Not a problem, Your Honor," Augusta promised with a smile toward Mike. Logan took a seat next to Ross, leaning over to hear something the Chief of Ds was saying to his captain.

"Robert, my boy," the Mayor's tone was low and cajoling as he took Bobby's hand, but his eyes were serious. "You have been very busy."

"Yes, sir," said Bobby.

"Where's your delightful partner?" asked the Mayor, looking behind Bobby and craning his neck. The door was shut, however, so there wasn't anything for his Honor to see.

"She's waiting outside," confirmed Ross from where he was sitting.

"Oh, no. No, this won't do." The Mayor shook his head. "No objections to Alexandra joining us." He was issuing a directive and it was clear that anyone who might have objections wasn't allowed to state them.

His Honor opened the door and said something Bobby couldn't hear, but in the next instant Eames was in the room and taking the seat next to Logan. She nodded across the table to Forrester who acknowledged her with a dip of his head. Her eyes met Bobby's and he knew he had her support, no matter what. He stood a little straighter.

On his way back to his seat, the Mayor reached up and gave Bobby a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Bobby took the chair at the end of the table, directly opposite from the Mayor.

Bobby took in the assembled officials, all eyes on him and stifled a hysterical laugh behind a cough. The stress must be getting to him. The whole tableau was like something out of King Arthur, with the Mayor as the legendary monarch. Hmmm. That would make the Commissioner Sir Gawain, and Annie Leech the Lady of the Lake. Maybe the curvy red head to the right of the Mayor was Guinevere? The Chief of Ds was most certainly Mordred. Then again, maybe the whole scene was more akin to dogs playing poker, with the Mayor dealing the cards and the Chief of Ds as the droopy bulldog. Yeah. That was it. Bobby sighed inwardly; he just wanted it over. He folded his hands on the table and waited.

"Annabelle," His Honor said to Chief of Inspectors Annie Leech. "Kenneth." He looked at the Chief of Detectives. "I know you both know Jennifer Morton, but the rest of you probably don't," he said as he gestured to the unknown woman at his side. "Ms Morton here is Chair of the Civilian Complaint Review Board which oversees civilian reports of alleged police misconduct." He made introductions around the room, his gaze settling longer on Santelli as soft smile played around his mouth.

Chief of Detectives Kenny Moran raised his hand. "Your Honor," he began. "I would like to restate my objection to Ms. Morton's presence. Detective Goren's situation is not a direct result of a public complaint about his conduct. This is an internal matter which does not fall under the jurisdiction of the CCRB."

"Noted, Kenneth," said his Honor. "But given the outpouring of public support in defense of Detective Goren, the CCRB requested to be heard." He looked at Bobby. "My very good friend Jules Copeland has been singing your praises to anyone who will listen." His Honor looked over to his other very good friend, the Commissioner. "What do you think, Rex?" he asked, employing a nickname that perhaps five people were allowed to use, two of whom were dead.

The Commissioner shrugged. "Ms Morton's presence will put the community's mind at ease." He smiled at the pretty redhead. "After today, I want this matter put completely and fully to rest." His turned his gaze to Moran who was suitably silenced.

"I promise I won't stay," Jennifer Morton said to the Mayor. She had a slight drawl to her voice, which Bobby recognized as being a North Carolina twang. She leaned over and patted the Mayor's hand. Apparently she was another very good friend.

"The CCRB prepared a statement which I would like to read, and then I will let y'all duke it out." She smiled charmingly around the room, her eyes coming to rest on Moran who sat and sulked like an annoying child. And like an annoying child, he was largely ignored. The Mayor inclined his head at Ms Morton, who stood and held out a piece of paper.

It is the opinion of the Civilian Complaint Review Board that in the years he has been on active duty for the New York Police Department, Detective Robert O Goren has performed unquantifiable service to the people of this city. Regardless of the perceived crimes perpetrated in October 2007, it is this committee's opinion that Detective First Grade, Robert O Goren, is an invaluable asset to the department and to the community. We hereby recommend that his aforementioned service be considered when rendering his punishment.

"Thank you Ms Morton," said the Commissioner. "As always, we value the CCRB's opinion and thank you for your time."

She put her paper down and looked down the table at Bobby. She liked what she saw and smiled, looking back at the Commissioner and Mayor. "Gentlemen. Ladies," she said by way of departure. As she passed Bobby on her way out she said quietly "Good luck, Detective Goren." He turned back to see Mike give him a subtle thumbs up out of the corner of his eye.

"Always good to hear the voice of the people," said his Honor to an exiting Ms Morton who waved goodbye with just the tips of her fingers. The Mayor turned to Leech. "Annabelle?"

"Thank you, your Honor," she began. "Mr. Mayor, Mr. Commissioner, ladies, gentlemen, my Inspectors here-" She gestured behind her to Santelli and Forrester, "have worked tirelessly and doggedly to _objectively_ investigate the events that transpired in October of 2007." She paused to look at Bobby. "While we uncovered evidence of wrongdoing, including misuse of departmental resources, it is the IAB's opinion that Detective Goren acted in the best interest of the people when he infiltrated Tate's Correctional Facility." She paused for effect and ploughed on. "We believe Detective Goren truly comprehends the nature of his transgressions and does not pose any future threat to the NYPD. Given his stellar record of service, we hereby recommend the additional charges, including conduct unbecoming, be dismissed."

"WHAT?" said Moran, coming out of his chair and knocking it backward, almost into Ross. "You can't honestly think, Annie, that it's a good idea that someone who has proven himself to be teetering on the edge of madness continue to endanger himself and the people around him?"

"I do," said Leech confidently, looking at the Mayor and the Commissioner as she answered. "Because if that's really what you think of him, Kenny, in light of everything he's done, even when 'teetering on the edge of madness' then you're a bigger idiot that I thought you were. And Kenny, I was already thinking Texas big."

"Annie…" said the Commissioner warningly.

"Apologies," she said insincerely with a smile that was all teeth and no charm to the Chief of Ds. Moran was turning an unfortunate shade of purple and a large vein on the right side of his face threatened to abandon ship.

Annie eyed Bobby down the length of the table. "I agree he needs disciplinary action, and I agree with the recommendation of the CCRB – his record should matter. Therefore, Internal Affairs recommends that Detective Goren be demoted to Detective, Third Grade, and reassigned."

Bobby heard her last statement. "Leave Major Case?" he asked, staring incredulously. It was always a possibility, sure, but having her suggest it out loud was like a punch to the face Bobby wasn't fully prepared for. He blinked rapidly, trying to process. Leave Major Case?

Leech looked down the length of the table at him and nodded. "Yes, Detective Goren, leave Major Case." She gentled her tone and spoke as if it were only the two of them in the room. "You are guilty, son. Mitigating factors aside, there must be consequences for that."

Bobby looked at her dumbfounded. He wasn't sure he could adjust to a new department, a new desk, a new captain, a new partner. He looked around wildly, but Eames had her gaze fixed squarely in front of her. It would be a pale imitation of his old life; the same yet so very different. _No Eames._

Leech offered him a small reassuring smile. "You should have thought about that before you choose to go AWOL to Tate's, dragging other people into your shenanigans," she chided as if she could read his mind. He stared at her, hoping she would to throw back her head and laugh, declaring it all a joke. She didn't. His eyes sought Mike's, and then went to Eames, They both stared at him but said nothing. Eames' arms were folded across her chest as if holding herself back and Mike had a hand on her elbow. Bobby was trying to process it, but he was near an edge. He very slowly inhaled and then exhaled. He removed his hand from the table and slowly began to tap on his thigh.

"Where do you suggest he go, Annie?" Moran sneered. "Maybe Traffic would take him. He snorted. "Or School Patrol. He's got some experience with them."

The Mayor held up a hand for silence. "Excellent question," said His Honor. "Even if I didn't care for the tone in which it was asked, Kenneth."

The Commissioner glared at Moran. "And I don't care for the editorial. All branches of the NYPD have an important job to do, Kenny, including our brothers and sisters in Traffic and School Patrol."

Moran was appropriately silenced.

"I am sure, given his arrest record, that any number of departments or precincts would be eager to make a place for Detective Goren," Leech said offhandedly, smoothly transitioning back to business. "In fact, I have openings in my own department." She gestured to her lead inspectors with her hand. "With Inspector Santelli heading out shortly to launch the Integration Program, approved by both you and the Commissioner, I would take Detective Goren in Internal Affairs," she said nonchalantly but Bobby wasn't fooled by her casual tone. Leech wanted him. He busted his share of cops, and counted few real friends amongst his contemporaries. Internal Affairs would be challenging but would definitely ruin whatever little credibility he had with the rest of the force.

"Oh?" said the Mayor leaning back in his chair to get a better look at Inspector Santelli. "You're going back out on patrol, Augusta?" She nodded. "How fascinating," he said. "Let's talk when we've concluded here."

"Oh sure, Annie," Moran scoffed. "You'll take him. IAB is the haven for the rejected, isn't it."

Leech's impassive face betrayed no reaction to Moran's pointed insult. The two rejects sitting behind her regarded Moran coolly, taking their boss's lead and not engaging in Moran's pettiness.

The Commissioner scowled. "Kenny," he barked warningly.

"What I mean to say, sirs, is that Leech is notorious for poaching off other people's departments," said the Chief of Ds less harshly. "Forrester there was a decorated SWAT team member, and everyone knows about Augusta." He pointed to Santelli. "No way does she get him," this time his finger jabbed at Leech. "Detective Goren is a _detective_. If you want to keep him around, he stays where I can watch him."

The Commissioner rubbed a hand on his face, considering the ramifications of keeping Bobby under Moran when it was clear the Chief was not a fan. "Goren, I swear to God…" he started but then stopped. "I oughta just dismiss you, or transfer you to Mars. Save myself the trouble," he said. "Because I think you'll do it again. You'll do something again."

"Now, Rex," The Mayor tsk tsk'd. "We agreed on no dismissal."

The Commissioner flipped his hand dismissively. "Yeah, Sparky yeah. I know," he said, employing a nickname for the Mayor that only the Commissioner of the largest police force in North America would be ballsy enough to use in public.

The Mayor looked thoughtfully at Bobby as he drummed his owns fingers lightly on the table, a little faster than Bobby would like since it was throwing off his own steady beat. He could sense the wheels in the Mayor's head grind together and then come to a complete halt. Bobby stopped tapping when the Mayor opened his mouth to speak.

"I like you, Robert. I like that you are on my team," he said, referring to Major Case. "What I don't like is that you decided to go rogue, thus putting me in an awkward position with several peers outside my jurisdiction." He folded his hands together and rested his elbows on the table. "I have to kiss a lot of ass in that town you trampled over," he said frankly. "Those provincial assholes are thrilled that the Mayor of New York owes them and they're going to make me pay." As an independently wealthy financier for whom running a major metropolitan city was "fun," his Honor had a reputation for speaking his mind. "I am willing to do it, Robert, because it's you. Because of what you've done for the people of New York City. Because of what you just did for the people in that hospital." He glanced over at the Commissioner who nodded once.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad move, after all, Bobby thought to himself. Internal Affairs as a division had loyalty and cohesion; it was clear that even though Santelli didn't like him, she never let on that she shared the same opinion as Moran. IAB might be a safe place to transfer, if he absolutely had to leave Major Case. He could certainly do worse than a boss like Leech, who was calm in a crisis and obviously commanded the respect of her team. Bobby spared a glance back at Eames who was eyeing the IAB team warily as if she suspected them of stealing her Skittles. _But what about Eames?_

"Robert O Goren," announced the Commissioner as Bobby's attention snapped back to the matter at hand. "Effective immediately you are hereby demoted to the rank of Detective, Third Grade." He paused to gauge the impact of his announcement, but Bobby's face betrayed no reaction. He expected a demotion, and Third Grade wasn't too much of a stretch. Bobby could live on that pay and at that level, he had before. But what about Major Case?

"You will remain on Major Case at the discretion of your Captain, Danny Ross." Bobby released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding and looked over at Eames and Logan who were talking animatedly with each other, smiling broadly.

"I am not finished," the Commissioner said gruffly. "Detective Goren, you are hereby on a probation for 90 days, during which you will be required to check in at regular intervals with both your department appointed psychiatrist, Dr Skoda, and your union delegate, whom I understand is Detective Logan." He glanced back at Ross and Mike, who both nodded. "Christ on a crutch, the blind leads the blind," the Commissioner muttered. In a louder voice, he said, "If you so much as garner a traffic ticket in that time, son, I will dismiss your ass so fast it will break the goddamned sound barrier. Is that clear?"

Bobby nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. The Commissioner rose. "Sorry, Annie. You can't have him," he said apologetically.

Annie also rose from her chair. "No apologies necessary, Rex," she said. Apparently, Leech was also friendly with the Commissioner. Bobby doubted Moran was as intimate and risked a glance at the Chief of Ds who had gotten out of his chair and was making for the door, his face set in a sneer, possibly permanent. "As long as he stays with the NYPD, I do have him," Leech finished as she nodded to Forrester and Santelli. The three made to leave the room, their work here done.

"Everyone!" said the Mayor who pounded a fist on the table with a loud twack. "I have an excellent idea! It just came to me, it's brilliant!" He waved everyone back and motioned them to retake their seats. Bobby's mouth went dry and his panicked gaze sought Eames. Her eyes had gone wide, and he knew they both wondered the same thing. Was the Mayor going to overturn the Commissioner's decision and send him to IAB after all?


	12. Dixie Sashay

NOTE: Didn't win any lottery, so nothing is mine except for what is.

ALSO: Squarey is brilliant. Some of the best ideas are hers (hello, cliffhanger) that she lets me use.

AND: Thanks for reading. I have one, possibly two chapters left until IAB is all done. Everyone has been super supportive I may have to write something else!

* * *

Everyone shuffled back to their seats, varying expressions that all fit nicely into the "wary" category on their faces. As Bobby went to his end of the table, he felt a small, warm hand on his arm. He looked down at Eames, who smiled at him and shook her head. Slightly dazed, Bobby allowed her to lead him over to where she and Logan sat. He took the chair in between the two of them. He smiled back at her and knew it was the right move. He was no longer in the hot seat, as it were, and by sitting with his fellow MCS detectives it was a powerful visual to Moran and everyone else that he could take whatever cockamamie notion the Mayor had. He was not alone.

The Mayor remained standing, waiting for everyone's attention. The Commissioner raised his eyebrows slightly at Bobby's change of position, but Moran and Leech did not take notice of Bobby; they were focused on the Mayor. Santelli looked pointedly at the Mayor, while Forrester smiled his approval at the MCS detectives and tipped the brim of an imaginary hat at Eames for her successful maneuver. Bobby looked back at Eames who was smiling in acknowledgement. Despite the stress of the moment, Bobby could suppress the stab of annoyance at the casual way Forrester interacted with Eames. _What was with that guy?_

His Honor, milking the dramatic pause for all it was worth, leaned slightly forward with his palms splayed on the table. He surveyed each face individually and once he had gone full circle, his gaze settled back on the Commissioner. "Why not send Robert back out on the street?" The Mayor said to the room at large. He looked around at several astonished faces; all eyes blinking rapidly back at him. He sat down, pleased with his pronouncement. Bobby remained expressionless, his attention still on the Mayor, who beamed triumphantly at the assembly. The Commissioner looked at Moran whose eyes had gone wide and was looking at Leech. She gave him a slight shrug and looked back at his Honor.

"Follow me here," the Mayor instructed. "First, I think there's a tremendous opportunity to generate buzz about the Integration Program." He held up his fingers and counted off. "Second, it will show we take Robert's transgressions seriously and respond seriously. A demotion is a slap on the wrist. We need to show the harshest critics," his eyes unconsciously swiveled Moran's direction, "that we understand and are taking appropriate measures. Three," he directed a smile toward Santelli. "He will be in Augusta's very capable hands. She's done amazing work on my own personal detail and I think she'll be a perfect partner for Robert as he transitions back into police work." Santelli's face remained smooth as her eyes bored into the back of her boss's head, but Bobby could see her jaw was working as she gnawed on her tongue, probably to keep from saying something.

The Commissioner considered this as he stared up at the ceiling and after a moment nodded. "You know, Sparky" said the Commissioner. "I think you might be on to something." He looked at Bobby and stroked his chin with his hand. "It's perception that matters, so a demotion and temporary reassignment present a powerful combination to anyone who might cry 'foul.'" He pointedly looked at Moran. "Yeah, I think it's a great idea," he said half to himself. He turned and looked at Bobby. "It will also remind you, son, of why you became a cop in the first place." He chuckled. "Nothing like being back in a uni, behind the wheel of a black and white to give you perspective about where you came from and where you're going."

Since the two highest ranking officials in the room thought it was a good idea, everyone else remained silent; the ambient noise of New York going about its business – cars honking, jackhammers jack hammering, people shouting – was the only sound. Inside the room, everyone waited for someone else to react first, but no one said a word. Moran, however, looked suspiciously smug.

"Splendid!" said the Mayor. "Augusta will take excellent care of you, Robert." He beamed at the Inspector who returned his regard with a polite smile.

"Sirs," Danny Ross interjected. "I hate to burst your bubble, but that puts me down a detective."

The Mayor waved his hands as if Ross's point wasn't worth worrying over. "Annabelle can spare Calvin," said the Mayor as if it were already a foregone conclusion. "He'll be partner-less for the duration anyway."

"Actually, Your Honor," Leech protested. "That puts me down two inspectors."

"Now Annabelle," said Moran who stopped sulking long enough to look superior. "You want this brain child of yours to work you must be prepared to make sacrifices." He was rubbing her nose in it, probably to get back at her for defending Bobby.

The Mayor was too pleased with himself to bother noticing Moran's remark or its tone. "Right. So work it out amongst yourselves." He stood and everyone followed suit. "In two weeks time, I want Robert and Augusta to inaugurate the Integration Program, with Calvin on temporary loan to Major Case to partner with Alexandra." He shooed them off with his hands. "Dismissed!" The Mayor made a beeline for Santelli, but was intercepted by Ross. The two men engaged in conversation while the Commissioner made his way to the door without stopping to talk to anyone. Moran gave one last sneer to the room at large as he exited behind the Commissioner.

Mike came over and good naturedly punched Bobby in the shoulder, but Bobby didn't feel it; he was still numb from the last five minutes of the proceeding to notice. Go out on patrol? Work with Santelli? Wear a uniform? He looked down at his slight paunch, a souvenir from the stress of the last two years and wondered if he would even fit in his old uniform. Probably not. He was dizzy. Eames and Logan were talking, but he couldn't quite understand what they were saying.

Annie Leech approached, followed closely by Forrester and Santelli. "Congratulations, Detective Goren," she said and held her hand out. He shook it. "Uh, um. Thank you Chief."

"Spec," she said. "My people call me Spec. Since you are in my program now, Detective Goren, you're one of my people." She cleared her throat. "Please contact my assistant to set up an appointment," she said abruptly. "I need to brief you on the particulars of the program. You'll need to spend some time with Gus prior to going out." She turned to include Santelli. "You two will only have each other, so it's vital you are on the same page from day one." She directed this last statement mostly toward Santelli, who tilted her head slightly to the right as she looked at Bobby.

After a long minute, Gus finally held out her hand for him to shake. "It will be-," she broke off and searched for the right word. "An adventure," she finally decided. "To work with you," she said, avoiding the standard words like "pleasure" or "fun" without being overtly insulting. Bobby shook her hand. "Uh, yeah." He replied.

"Augusta!" said the Mayor in a sing song voice, tinged with adoration. With a desperate glance at Leech and an eye roll toward Forrester, Santelli fixed a smile to her face and turned to greet the mayor. Leech chuckled as she said her goodbyes and left the room. Bobby stood there with Eames, Forrester and Logan as the Mayor tenderly clasped Santelli's hand.

"And how is Gary?" the little guy said, his eyes coming just at the level of her chest.

"My husband is well, your Honor," she said, not bothering to correct the Mayor that her husband's name was Greg. "He'll be delighted to know you remember him so well." Her face remained perfectly straight. Their voices faded as the remaining detectives turned to each other. Forrester broke the silence.

"Guy has a thing for tall women," he said unnecessarily. "Poor Gus."

"Lucky me," said Eames quietly.

Forrester took her hand and kissed the back of it loudly. "My lady, twill be lovely to serve with you," he extolled gallantly.

Eames giggled. _Eames giggled. _Bobby looked at his partner as if seeing her for the very first time. _Eames does not giggle!_ He was about to mention it to her, but decided to keep his mouth shut. When things were back to normal, and they were back together in the MCS bullpen, he would remind her and point out that she _giggled_, and she will be as disgusted as he.

"And you, sirrah," she purred demurely. Bobby openly gaped at his partner this time; obviously she'd been replaced by some sort of coquette. _Who is this person? _He was going to have to get the details of her so called questioning at Forrester's hands. They appeared to have gotten very close when he wasn't looking.

"Let's get together for a drink this week," said Forrester. "I feel like a Minor League player who just got picked to pitch in the World Series." He winced. "Except I play hockey."

"I'll take good care of you, Calvin," she responded.

"I am sure you will, Alexandra. Although," he said self importantly. "I think, since I will technically be the senior partner, _I_ will be taking good care of _you_." He winked. Bobby did not think this day could get any more surreal. He was still a cop, but he was going to walk a beat again. He had a new partner that didn't like him, and now his old partner, a woman he had known and respected for years, was acting like she was in high school and just got asked out by the head jock. Bobby closed his eyes, thinking it would all be a result of too much scotch, but when he reopened them, all the same people were there. Eames was smiling at Forrester who smiled dopily back, and Mike looked on like he approved. Bobby needed to sleep, like maybe for a day or two.

"Logan," Forrester said, turning to address the other detective. They were all oblivious to Bobby's inner turmoil. "Always a pleasure."

"You too, Sharpie."

"Detective Goren," he said shaking Bobby's hand. He glanced over at his partner, still engaged in conversation with the Mayor who was animatedly describing something to her, then back at Bobby. "You and I are going to need to grab a drink, too."

Bobby shook the Inspector's hand. "Uh, sure."

"Great. We'll make it a Thing," Forrester said. He looked over at Logan. "You can bring Wexler, if she's old enough to imbibe."

Mike laughed. "Yeah, Wheeler's old enough." He caught Santelli's eye as she glared daggers at the group. "I think you are being summoned for savior duty, Sharpie," Mike jerked his head in Gus's direction where she was firmly caught in the Mayor's amorous web. Forrester chuckled as he saluted their group and went to save his partner from the attentions of New York City's love struck Mayor.

"Of all the ways it could have gone down," said Mike, shaking his head. "I wouldn't have guessed this." He drummed Bobby on the back with both his hands, unable to contain his delight. "You did it! We won!" He tapped a staccato beat on Bobby's shoulders as if playing drums for the Stones. "I promise as your new keeper, brother, I won't be too much of a hard ass," he vowed jokingly. "I may make you wash my car, however."

Eames laughed at Mike's good humor and looked up at Bobby with a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes. He looked down at her, feeling _free_ for the first time in a very long time. He'd expected so much worse; dismissal, possibly even legal action, but those hadn't happened. He could deal with Santelli, and walking a beat, and searching backpacks at subways, and whatever else he had to do. He'd already been through so much worse. For now he would just savor the moment and simply _be_. With Mike practically dancing around him, and Eames smiling up at him, victory felt suspiciously like joy.

"Detectives," said Ross coming over to join their party. "Goren," he said to Bobby. "Glad you are still with us." He held out his hand which Bobby shook. "If you'll excuse me, I owe Annie Leech a drink," he said and made his way to the door. He paused to look back on the tableau that Eames, Logan, and Bobby made, standing as one unit, and shook his head, smiling as he left the room.


	13. And Scene

**NOTE:** None of it's mine, except what is.

**ALSO:** Thanks to everyone who read any of it and felt it was worth the time.

**AND:** Squarey is my new BFF, beta friend forever.

* * *

Bobby entered the empty MCS bullpen to temporarily clean out his desk. He sat in his chair and twirled it around, trying to memorize the details. It was only going to be four weeks. It could have just as easily been never again, but he still wanted to remember it now so that he had some comfort during the long days of checking backpacks and issuing traffic tickets.

Bobby paused mid twirl when he saw the place wasn't empty after all. The blinds in Ross's office were slightly drawn, but he could see his once and future boss sitting behind his desk grinning widely. _Ross smiling? What the hell?_ Eames stood with her back toward Bobby but her body language was relaxed and amused. He craned his neck and recognized the Hollywood profile of Calvin Forrester. The Inspector's hands were working animatedly and he was obviously in the middle of telling some incredibly amusing story since the other two laughed. _Ross was laughing. _

Suddenly no longer nostalgic, Bobby sat up abruptly and began gathering his things. He felt slightly cranky; it wasn't as if he wanted Eames or Ross to tear their hair out or rend their clothing as they mourned his temporary reassignment. It would be nice, though, if they weren't quite so happy that the annoyingly charming Calvin Forrester was joining the team. Bobby carefully placed his highlighter collection in the pocket of his canvas bag.

The bag reminded him of Eames. She got it for him during a trip to Seattle when they flew out to follow a lead during the investigation of a prison warden. Their layover was in Denver, and he had needed another book to read since he finished the one he brought on the first leg of the trip. Eames had gone into the bookstore with him to mock his choices and just generally give him a hard time. He had decided on a thick book about the fates of human societies and, feeling generous, also paid for Eames' gossip magazines. She would never know that he secretly wanted to peruse them while she napped. Or, if she stayed awake, he would settle for listening as she described the latest Hollywood entanglements while he pretended to be bored. He was busy paying, and Eames sweet talked the manager into giving her the bag, since it normally carried a 50 price tag. His partner was excellent at negotiation and/or intimidation. There was a quote from Desiderius Erasmus stitched on the tote:

_ When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes._

She had said she didn't know who that was, but she thought of Bobby when she saw the quote. He didn't have the heart to point out that he didn't usually spend that much money on books since most could be checked out of the library for free. He secretly treasured the gift, delivered with her usual brand of snark.

Bobby was still lost in thought and didn't hear the door open. He nearly jumped when he heard Eames' voice behind him ask, "Hey Bobby, you aren't taking all your stuff away, are you?" She had a frown forming between her eyes. She looked down at him and then quickly scanned his half cleaned desk.

"W…what?" Bobby blinked up at her. He was relieved to see that she seemed concerned. Maybe his departure would be noticed after all.

Forrester popped out from around her and ruined the moment. "Hey, Goren!" he said, all friendship and smiles. He held out a hand and Bobby took it automatically. "You aren't doing that on my account, are you?" The former IAB inspector surveyed Bobby's desk. "I don't need much room, won't be here long."

"Oh, uh...yeah. I was just getting some of my stuff, making room for yours," he said. Eames had glanced at the bag and gently ran her fingers over the stitched quote. She looked up and Bobby and flashed him a small, knowing smile. He smiled tentatively in return.

"Really, Goren. You aren't going to be gone that long," Forrester said, flashing his pearly whites. "Think of it like this: We aren't moving in together, but we aren't breaking up. I just need a drawer at your place to stash a clean pair of clothes and a toothbrush."

Eames laughed and Bobby smiled. It was hard to be mad at Forrester; his good mood was infectious.

"You meet with the Spec yet?" Sharpie asked.

"Yeah, this morning," Bobby replied. "She's…tough."

Sharpie laughed. "You ain't seen nothing." The Inspector looked around. "You, uh, you meet with Santelli yet?" he asked, looking at Bobby's face as if trying to see if there were scratch marks or any other damage.

"Uh…no. No." Bobby rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. _Busted_. Bobby had been putting it off. With the stress of the hearing and subsequent verdict, and his tense meeting with the Chief Inspector, Bobby didn't have the energy to bond with Santelli.

Sharpie nodded in understanding and checked his watch. "I'm supposed to meet her in about 10 minutes on the Fourth Floor." He glanced at Eames and then back at Bobby. "We're going out, a last hurrah kind of thing before the big changeover. Her mother-in-law's got the kids, so Greg's coming in to join us so he can be the designated driver. You guys wanna come?" The two MCS detectives glanced at each other and Bobby could tell by Eames' face that she wanted to. He cocked his head to the side and considered it. His first instinct was to pass; he was so used to keeping to himself these days that he wasn't sure he'd be good company. On second though, it might be better to deal with Santelli in a social situation, surrounded by people they were both comfortable with, and avoid the one on one. After a moment, he nodded.

"Great, I am going to call Theo and see if he can make it. We're headed to McSorley's around the corner." Sharpie went over to a desk, Logan's, and picked up a phone. "Goren, why don't you go and retrieve Gus?"

* * *

Augusta Santelli sat in the Fourth Floor Conference Room, which was a generous description for the space. It was more of a closet; the casualty of an idiot architect who couldn't adequately divide the floor into evenly distributed administration cubicles. Eventually, someone thought to throw a chair and a TV in there and call it an AV room. There wasn't enough room to fit more than a person and a half, a TV and a tiny side table with a crappy folding chair. It was cramped, but it was still better than anything in the basement where IAB was located. Besides, she didn't plan on being there for much longer. Her mother-in-law had the kids and Sharpie was due to swoop in and save her soon.

Gus leaned back in her chair and pressed "rewind" on the remote.

"_I give up," she said._

"_I'm, uh, I'm sorry?" he stammered back at her. _

"_I give up. In the wake of all this," she gestured over the mess on the table which was quickly spilling onto the floor. "I honestly don't know what to do with you. None of us do. Since you're the genius here, Detective Goren, what do you think we should do?"_

She rubbed her forefinger between her eyes and under the bridge of her glasses. She was not at her finest here, and the Spec's order to watch and rewatch was starting to fry her brain. She sighed and rewound and watched again. He never answered the question, damnit! She made a note and pressed on.

"_Why did you become a cop, Detective?" she asked suddenly._

"_Why did you?" he asked._

_Duh. Answering the question with a question, classic switcharoo, Augusta Rose._ Thus it becomes about Gus and her motives, and no longer about Goren and his. Gus made a notation on her legal pad and rewound the video and watched that bit again. Where the hell was her head that day? She'd spent hours with perps of every stripe – cops, pimps, petty thieves, and serious career criminals without letting a questioning transfer back to her and without loosing the direction of the interrogation. But here was a rookie mistake smacking her in the face. She leaned forward on the little table and rested her head in her hands as she continued to watch.

"_So that makes you, what, both the checks and the balances?" he countered. _

"_It does," she agreed._

She had to smile at her quip. Of course, her wit was worthless in the face of her failure. Damn. She fast forwarded to the part where Goren got out of his chair and walked over to her. She watched him round the table and lean over her left shoulder; she could see Logan in the background leaning back, looking relaxed.

"_But you, you're the Queen of the NYPD," he sneered at her._

"'_Your Majesty' does have a nice ring to it," she responded. _She cringed at the tremor in her voice which he had to have known was as a sign of weakness.

"_What happened to the cop who shot you?" he asked as bent from the waist and leaned forward_. She had felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as his breath tickled her ear. She had struggled with her panic, fighting the urge to turn around and backhand him across the face or jab an elbow into his trachea. Since the shooting those many years ago, she was very particular about being approached from behind, especially on the left side. He definitely, deliberately approached her from behind and intentionally leaned over her left side. Shit. How did he know?

"_He went away for awhile, then he died in prison," she_ _replied_. Cops did not make very popular inmates and she knew that the one who shot her, Officer Frederick W Webster, would rank as one of the least popular. Webster was a belligerent bully who hid behind his shield; he shook down the people he was supposed to protect and took a cut from a prostitution ring run from inside a strip club. He had a reputation for beating confessions out of people, innocent or not. No. Webster had found no allies in the New York City Prison System.

No one, not even her husband, had known that Gus tracked Webster's movements from the day he went inside. On any given day during that time, she even knew how many times Webster had taken a piss. She tracked every infraction he received from guards, and every beat down he got from other inmates. She'd been present during his two appeal hearings, silently sitting in the gallery, watching. She also knew he told anyone who would listen that she, Gus, was responsible for his mistreatment, that his infractions and beat downs were because she called in favors from her friends and her cop daddy's friends. Interestingly, the number of people who listened was usually one, and that person usually requested a transfer to a different cell after about three weeks; a request that was always granted.

"_You pushed and pushed," Goren had accused. "Trapping him in a corner like a cat with a mouse, using your influence and your powerful friends to take everything away from him until he was left with nothing and was killed. The perfect revenge."_

As Goren used her as a verbal punching bag, she sat silently serene, her back at a flawless ninety degree angle to her chair. Her dancing master would have wept to see such perfect posture. She'd heard it all before so she'd let the big detective talk. The beauty of those rumors was the seedling of truth upon which they were based. She never lifted a finger, never wrote a request, never so much as intimated in a conversation, casual or otherwise, with anyone in the NYPD or beyond that Webster was marked. He had done it himself by being the worst kind of cop, the kind that uses the badge to legitimize his crimes and fires on one of their own. He'd sinned against the brotherhood and in the end got what everyone, herself included, believed he deserved.

Five years after he was first sentenced, Webster was killed in the prison yard. Someone had stabbed him with a shiv made out of the top of a bean can stolen from the cafeteria. No witnesses came forward, no suspect was ever found. Preliminary investigation ruled it a professional hit with too many suspects to narrow down and not enough people who cared to do the narrowing. Popular belief had it that one of Webster's business partners was not happy the former officer had decided to turn State's evidence in exchange for more privileges (which really just equaled less harassment). Gus had attended Webster's funeral, with four other people: two former partners, an ex wife and the chaplain. No one had cried. His ex-wife had spat on the grave as the bastard was lowered into the ground.

Gus enjoyed her work in Internal Affairs. It gave her a chance to ferret out other Websters before anyone else could get shot. It frosted her cookies that even after all these years she still had a visceral reaction, a fight or flight response to someone, anyone, sneaking up on her from behind on her left side. She absently rubbed her shoulder as she watched the screen, probing for the tell tale lump with her fingers. That bullet would never come out and she would probably never get over it.

Gus heard a knock at the door behind her, probably Sharpie. "Come in," she called but didn't turn around as the door cautiously opened. "I'll be just a minute," she said absently. Her eyes were riveted on the screen which was paused as Goren leaned behind her and talked in her ear. It pissed her off that he could have figured her out so quickly, and she could not return the favor. Where was her tell that tipped him off? She didn't favor her left side and she didn't rub at the shoulder for the bullet, not in public anyway. He had certainly gone for the jugular quick enough. No wonder people were conflicted; either hostile like Kenny Moran or loyal like Alex Eames. Goren was good at what he did. Asshole.

It took her a minute to register that Sharpie had not said anything. She sat upright but didn't turn around. Because Sharpie not saying anything meant that it was not, in fact, Sharpie that had opened the door. Damnit, he had snuck up on her again.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She asked irritably. She wasn't scheduled to meet with him until later in the week, before they went out on patrol.

"Your partner, and uh, my partner," he stammered. "They all want to..." She felt his confusion at her recognition because she still refused to turn around. "How, uh, how do you do that?" he blurted.

She turned her folding chair with a bit more emphasis than necessary, clunking it around loudly to send the message that she was annoyed. "Do what?" She said, eyeing him distastefully. She knew what he meant, but wanted to make him work for it. It was bad enough that she had spent the last two hours watching him completely annihilate her on screen, to have him there in person seemed the worst kind of insult. She knew it wasn't his fault, technically, but she was cranky so he was just going to have to deal.

"Know it was me?" he said.

"Detective Goren, I have five boys and a husband. I can recognize them - without looking - by voice, smell, cadence of footsteps, or lack there all," she responded condescendingly. "Sharpie's idiosyncrasies have been added to the fold, so to speak." She shook her head to clear it. She was going to have to work with him, so she had better lighten up. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I'm just cranky." She gestured to the TV screen where their alternate selves were frozen on screen. "Look familiar?"

He watched the TV with interest then looked back at her. "This is us, from the other day?" he asked. She looked up at him standing in the doorway, and cast a sideways glance toward the screen. She cocked her head to the right and regarded him fully. Why not go to the source? That would mean she could stop watching this stupid video which was getting her nowhere. Besides, he owed her for getting in trouble in the first place.

"It is. Sit down." She tapped the table. "This room isn't big enough for you to loom over me like some sort of angel of doom." He obliged her by leaning on his hip. "My homework assignment is to figure out exactly the moment where you took away my lollipop." He started at her blankly before nodding in understanding. She gestured to her notepad. "Obviously, you use the old "answer a question with a question," which I did not pick up on."

"Old trick," he responded.

"Rookie mistake," she agreed. She checked her notepad again. "What's really chapping my ass here, Goren, is how did you know?" She dismissed his quizzing look, knowing he was making her work for it just as she had done for him earlier. "Cut the crap, and I will too, deal?" She said, holding out her hand.

"Deal," he affirmed, taking it. "Although with all those boys, don't you would know this handshake is more binding if we spit?" He smiled slightly as he shook her hand.

"I'll be damned," she said in wonder. "Don Quixote has a sense of humor." She took her hand away before any spit could accumulate and waved away any chance of saliva. "No, how did you know that I would be," she paused and searched for the right word. "Unnerved," she decided. "Unnerved by your hovering behind me on the left side?"

He glanced back at the TV. Saw himself intentionally intimidating her by pressing on her weakness. "I didn't."

"What the hell does that mean?" she asked, the annoyance creeping back into her voice.

"I mean I didn't know for sure," he explained, hoping he hadn't stepped on their newly emerging truce. "I knew from Mike you had been shot by a cop. I did some digging, found out it was from the back." He seemed a little embarrassed to be talking about it and rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. "Messy."

"Very," she agreed. She motioned for him to continue.

"You had no problems writing with your right hand, so I figured you were shot on the left side." He shrugged. "A shooting like that, bound to leave you nervous about who might be sneaking up on your flank. Bound to unravel you if someone parks there, pushing you about the incident."

She considered this for a moment, head tilted and then finally nodded. "That's some fast math, Don, the way you added up all those facts and then put them into motion."

He raised one shoulder and let it fall.

"Thank you.," she said. He nodded in acknowledgement.

"Everyone, uh, wants to go out," he said. "If you're done here."

She regarded him for an intense moment as if she were weighing two incredibly heavy options. Finally she said, "My turn. I'll help you."

"What?" He was confused once again. She switched gears so quickly, once again leaving him several stop lights behind. She wasn't talking about his interrogation anymore, and she wasn't talking about McSorley's either. It was as if the conversation had moved ahead in her brain and she was only now letting him in on it. He wished he could keep up. Guess he better get used to it. She picked up her PDA and with fast moving thumbs shot off an email. "I'm gonna help you," she repeated more slowly.

"H…help me?" he said.

"Stammer's back," she commented. She put the Blackberry in her bag, gathered up her things and turned off the TV. "Remember I said I have snitches?" He nodded. "Well, I'm gonna to ask a few of them if they've seen your nephew."

"What?!" he said incredulously.

"Young kid from the sticks of Pennsylvania, on the run from the law?" She summed up his fears about Donnie succinctly. "I guara-god-damn-tee you someone has seen or talked to him, or knows someone who has." She gestured for him to precede her out of the narrow room. "Odds are, I know one of those someones."

"I don't want to risk him going back to Tate's," Bobby said forcefully as he was successfully herded out of the room. She switched off the light and closed the door.

"Don't get your windmills in a twist, Don," she said as they made their way to the elevators. "My investigation of you is long over. I have no intention of turning him in, just getting some intel, maybe letting that info slip out to parties who may or may not be interested. This is a big city, wouldn't like to think of one of my kids getting lost in it." She pressed the down button. "We're partners now, hello."

_FINIS_


End file.
